


The Other Side of the Door

by Lafeae



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Action, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, M/M, Minor Character Death, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:26:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafeae/pseuds/Lafeae
Summary: An attack at a KaibaCorp sponsored Duel Monsters tournament leaves everyone in shock and scrambling when shots are fired. Kaiba’s only concern is getting Mokuba to safety by whatever means necessary.Joey’s only concern is Kaiba, not thinking before running headfirst into the fray when he sees that his lover may be in troubleThe attackers take advantage of Kaiba and Joey’s raw concern for one another, isolating them from the outside world, holding them hostage and pitting against each other in a series of games that tests the strength of the relationship—making it or breaking it along the way.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This somehow stemmed from a Brotherhood thought, but it slowly evolved into something much, much darker. Not sure where it twisted along the way. 
> 
> So M for dark themes, violence, and blood.

* * *

The arena was at capacity despite the blistering heat, and the crowd cheered at a deafening peak to the sound of the Blue Eyes roaring over the field. Kaiba was pointed in his arrogance towards the blond across from him, hands spread wide, though his cackle was almost drowned out by all of the noise.

“Face it, mutt! You don’t stand a speck of a chance!”

Joey had determination painted across his face. The back of his hand wiped under his bangs before returning it to hold steady on his deck while he waited for Kaiba to end his turn. He stood on shaky ground at best, and the egomaniac before him was pumping up the crowd even worse, drawing out every hair-raising moment possible.

That wasn’t to say that Joey didn’t enjoy this limelight. It was the two of them, center-stage, with fans screaming their names in surround sound. His heart was ready to pound out of his chest, just as excited as he was ready to seethe at his opponent. “Hurry up, would ya, moneybags!”

They only had so much time allotted for this, Joey thought. In the midst of the tournament, he and Kaiba were something like an intermission before the grand finale. An exhibition of talent and technology. “Talent. I’m flattered,” Joey had initially responded, to Kaiba’s chagrin. He hadn’t had much faith in the suggestion when Kaiba mentioned it, especially when he had, from the outset, planned on it being the both of them instead of, say, Yugi. Joey always expected the roster change in spite, right up until the moments before they were announced. He had to admit, it really did rally a crowd to maximum volume.

It helped when they played their parts just right.

A maniacal smile crossed Kaiba’s features. “Fine. Why delay your inevitable demise?” Kaiba took pleasure to watch Joey stumble back from an attack, the melodic beeping of his life points dropping was louder than the crowd. They may have planned this, but the show was up to them. And Joey didn’t plan on losing.

“I don’t think so!” Joey said. He was holding on by the skin of his teeth as he went to draw a card.

From a small skybox the north side of the arena, full of broadcasters and sponsors, Mokuba sat overlooking the show. His hand pressed his earpiece when it squealed. The booth was made of soundproofed glass with all of the sounds filtered in from the monitors that had different camera angles for the live broadcast of the matches.

“These two are ridiculous,” Mokuba snorted. He took a sip of water and shifted around in the chair before he spun it around to the bemusement of the other sponsors and broadcasters seated in the box. “Like everyone doesn’t know that they’re a thing already.”

“That’s what makes it fun, Mokuba!” One of the ladies in the room said. The outrageousness was fun, she was right. And the other people in the booth were laughing with them. Perhaps the best part was that it wasn’t forced drama, because he knew that Joey and Kaiba could do this if they got in the right mood. Once they drew the name-calling out, it was game on.

“Yeah, and they’re gonna be so mad at each other when this is over. I’m not gonna hear the end of this for a week...”

Mokuba settled his feet on the ground to stop the chair, and witnessed the last of Joey’s life points become obliterated at his own gambling strategy. The luck sometimes ran out, and the holograms began to fade away, leaving the rivals staring at each other across an open field. Kaiba held out his hand, wordlessly displaying a thumbs down, and Joey fell to his knees, to which Mokuba covered his mouth and suppressed the laughter.

Kaiba crossed over and looked down on Joey. A warm breeze blew through the arena, and it offered little relief. “You’re such a drama queen,” Kaiba muttered. The tone was low enough that he knew no microphone would pick it up, but a camera would see him speaking.

“Takes one to know one, babe.”

Kaiba gave a cocky smile that quickly faded into a sneer. “Get up.”

A hand was extended to help pick Joey up off the ground, and the blond was so very tempted to slap Kaiba’s hand away, to snarl at his offer. He wasn’t a bad sport, and wasn’t about to appear so before so many other impressionable duellists who were onlooking. So he took the hand and pulled himself up. Even Kaiba’s palms were slick, and up close he could see where sweat beaded on his brow.

They walked out together to raucous applause, Joey feeling Kaiba brush the back off his hand before making sure to stride ahead and into a tunnel. The shade was welcomed. “Holy shit, why’d ya schedule this on the hottest day possible?”

“I didn’t, if you must ask. I am not all knowing, Joseph—“

“Yeah, right.”

“—and I don’t think you can blame me for this.” An accusing finger was pointed at Joey, before the blond’s hands enveloped Kaiba’s and squeezed.

“It’s hot as hell, I’m dyin’ of thirst, and you’re wearin’ all black. Cool it, a’right? We got like fifteen minutes ‘til we gotta get back out there’n watch the final. Let’s not waste it.”

For once, Joey was a little more level headed, and he let go of Kaiba’s hand, but not before kissing the point of the finger. He would do anything to set them at ease. Neither of them were in the mood, and the heat was permeating even the shaded spaces. They made their way inside, walking underneath the rumble of fan’s feet, to which Joey looked up and smiled, waving at those that were trying to peer down through the slats.

Inside, a blast of cold air hit them in the face, and Joey was hitching up his t-shirt to his neck, leaning on one of the walls and cuddling it. “Oh wall...tell me all yer coolin’ secrets...”

Kaiba didn’t deign his behavior with a response, instead choosing remove the Duel disk and then wave the sides of his jacket to try and cool things down. Maybe the black turtleneck and jacket was a bad idea, no matter how thin, but he was confident it looked good on a broadcast.

“You there, Moki? We get good shots?” Kaiba had his hand pressed to the microphone on the collar of the jacket.

“ _You bet!_ ” Mokuba’s voice chirped.

“So no one was trying to crash the party?” Kaiba asked. Joey turned over so that his back was on the wall, and he pulled up the sweat-soaked cotton to wipe the back of his neck off.

“ _Mm-mm. Haven’t heard anything. No one’s tried to intercept the broadcast, either._ ”

Kaiba nodded, and turned to the side as Roland came around the corner, handing off the duel disk in exchange for him offering them both a towel and bottle of water. Joey was more than greedy to take it, guzzling while he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. The Duel disk was stripped off his arm and laid beside him.

“Keep an eye out. They may want to try and make a mock of the end game,” said Kaiba, more serious than Joey liked.

“ _Not a problem._ ”

“You talkin’ about those stupid protestors?” Joey asked. Kaiba nodded, though his attention was more invested in listening to the radio than to the boyfriend. Probably because Kaiba didn’t want to think about it, even if he was the one who brought up it up. “I don’t get it, man. I don’t. What’s...what’s takin’ over KC broadcasts or havin’ sit-ins at product launches or...or...scarin’ off duelists! They’re fun wreckers, that’s all they are.”

“Influence angers people. They protest so the media pays attention and tries to put pressure on KaibaCorp. This is nothing new,” Kaiba replied.

“Yeah, fun killers,” Joey said. He hung the towel loose around his neck to keep as relaxed as possible. Kaiba feigned being the same about it, but there was a worried wrinkle in his brow. As if Joey hadn’t noticed it in the last few weeks. “They...ain’t gotten violent or nothin’?”

“No,” Kaiba replied. “Empty promises; hardly even threats.”

Joey picked himself and the Duel disk up off the floor, straightening out his shirt on the way up. With the young executive lost in his thoughts, Joey was able to snatch the towel that hung loosely in Kaiba’s hand, and he flung it over the back of his lover’s neck. Without listening to the other’s protest, Joey pulled their bodies closer, their chests pushed together and foreheads touching.

Kaiba’s eyes closed as his expression melted from concern to relief, especially when hands also settled on his hips. Kaiba clutched Joey’s elbows. “You need a shower,” he murmured.

“Love you too, asshole.”

Joey kissed the tip of Kaiba’s nose before pulling away, not wanting to leave their embrace. There wasn’t enough time to do much else, no matter how coyly he looked up and down Kaiba’s figure. He was lucky enough to get away with that ‘public display’ as Kaiba would call it.

Joey threw a thumb over his shoulder: “Imma head on out there, ‘kay?”

No response, to which Joey walked backwards to see what had Kaiba so enraptured. His hand was to the microphone again. “I can’t hear you, Mokuba. Try again,” silence, with Kaiba looking to the ceiling while pressing his fingers on the earpiece. “Repeat, Mokuba, repeat.”

“S’everythin’...?”

Kaiba waved for Joey to keep walking, while he pivoted on his heel and headed in the direction of an auxiliary hallway, disappearing from Joey’s view. He resigned himself to the fact that there were just other things on Kaiba’s mind at the moment, and he left back out to the roar of an impatient crowd.

Inside, Kaiba was headed up an elevator with Roland in tow. His arms crossed tight over his chest, and his fingers drummed in the opposite arm. He kept trying to contact Mokuba, but all responses were static. And while he was only a text away, paranoia had crept in. The possibility of something happening at this tournament was never far from his thoughts. It had only been assuaged during their exhibition match, and that was only because Joey had the uncanny ability to scramble his thoughts. Maybe that was part of the charm, Kaiba considered. That his robust randomness was a welcomed changed from the day-in, day-out routine. Not that it would ever be said to Joey’s face.

The elevator slid open, and Kaiba crossed through an empty hall to the broadcasting booth. A keycard unlocked the space, and Kaiba slipped into the room, several pairs of eyes glancing at him and then back out the windows. Mokuba also stared out absently, his chin propped up on the edge of his phone, and chewing on the end of a pen. Another sponsor hit him in the shoulder and nodded towards Kaiba.  “Nii-sama? What are you doing here?”

“Get the pen out of your mouth; no wonder I couldn’t gather a word you said.”

Mokuba blinked, and he spit out the pen, unaware he had put it there. “What are you talking about?”

“You tried reaching me on the radio?”

Mokuba shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nah. But I’ve been having interference. Maybe you heard that?” Mokuba asked.

“Not possible. Not these. Specialised signal,” Kaiba replied, and he tapped in the earpiece for good measure.

Mokuba turned away and shrugged. “Then I dunno, Seto. Maybe it’s the heat. Don’t you need to be down on the field in like two...seconds...what the...!”

The booth went dark in less than a blink. Monitors and overhead lights no longer buzzed. The wall length switchboard stopped glowing, though Mokuba reached out and tried to fiddle with the dials. Outside, the fans were already shifting around in their seats, some of the duelists trying to reach out to the referees for information.

Hushed murmurs spread through the skybox, some of the bodies around Kaiba standing as he inched his way to the door. The handle was turned, and the door burst open, cracking Kaiba in the knee and sending him stumbling into unwilling arms, nearly making a row of human dominoes. A woman screeched, while others shouted in behest of the elder Kaiba’s well being.

“Are you okay, nii-sama?”

Mokuba clambered for his phone and other important files. He weaved through people to try and reach his brother, but he was stopped in his tracks as Kaiba sent one of the rolling chairs flying towards whoever had tried to enter the room. A body fell back. A gunshot rang out. Another screech.

“Out! All of you!” Kaiba shouted.

“Mr. Kaiba...!”

“Get out of here, now!”

They weren’t doing to ask any more questions. People shouldered by Kaiba, his hand stretched back and searching for something tangible. On the sky bridge outside, Kaiba could see where Roland was trying to subdue a masked man with the very same rolling chair, pinning them under cross of the legs. Roland was ordering all those that filed by him to head for the stairs.

Mokuba’s free hand gripped his older brother’s. A quick glance back, assured that the booth was empty, before Kaiba began to drag them out of the small space.

As the pair tried to slip by, Roland became overpowered by the man he pinned. The chair whizzed by Roland’s ear, and with little hesitation the security head drew his weapon.

The masked man paid little mind to Roland, and he lunged to grab onto smaller Kaiba’s arm, looping on the crook of Mokuba’s elbow. Everything Mokuba carried dropped on the floor, phone clattering face down. From the other side, Kaiba grabbed a fistful of Mokuba’s shirt sleeve and tried to apply more pull, shifting all of his weight and turning both feet. The man used Mokuba’s arm as a rope and snagged the shoulder of the boy’s shirt before working up to a length of hair. Fingers clawed through the thick mess of black hair, scrapping at Mokuba’s ear and scalp as he wailed.

Roland steadied himself to try and find an aim, but the three moved too much for a clear shot.

“Let go, nii-sama!”

“Not a chance,” Kaiba growled.

“Trust me!”

It was there, in the hand that Mokuba had extended in Kaiba’s direction, did the brunet see the pen that was in his mouth just minutes before. Hesitantly, Kaiba let Mokuba go, and all the held back energy flung the boy into the arms of the masked man. The pen plunged for the first patch of open skin that was found, a space on the neck. The masked man’s hand seized tight around the lock Mokuba’s hair at impact, and as Mokuba and the man backpeddled from one another, the chuck of hair was ripped out. Kaiba enveloped his little brother in a tight embrace and pulled him away.

“Go on, Mr. Kaiba; I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point,” Roland said.

The masked man was taken into a chokehold by Roland, and Kaiba hadn’t lingered to listen to what Roland said, already aware of the emergency plan. He had scooped up Mokuba and sprinted past the elevators, down a short hall to the emergency stairwell. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him from tripping over his own feet, jumping down the last two stairs and recovering at the landing. Kaiba pivoted to turn down the next set of stairs; he stalled at the sight of pair of men identical to the one before at the foot of them. They needed to make it down four floors...or worst case, Mokuba needed to make it.

Kaiba sat Mokuba down and took his hand as he stepped backwards.

“Seto what’s—“

“Shh.”

Kaiba kept his finger pressed to his lips as he scanned the surroundings. There had to be an alternate route, and he took the chance as he pushed through a metal door and went down a cement hallway. The entire arena hadn’t been memorised, but there were certain places that he was sure of along the way. What each floor was meant to look like—what it held. The echo of feet wasn’t far behind them. Kaiba recalled that the floor emptied into the underbelly of the stands and into corridors that lead to box seats in the arena. It was full of numbered doors with keypads or card readers.  He tried only one of the keypads to test the whether or not they would work. Mokuba clung to his arm and keeping a lookout behind. The lack of electricity suggested all of them were now offline. 

Kaiba had to restrategize. The elevator was off limits, and any room that was controlled by a keycard or a keypad lock was as well. There were only so many places that he was going to be able to slither into, even with his extended knowledge of the arena. It meant there were only so many places that the assailants could come from as well. It levelled the playing field just as much as it made the entire arena a maze. 

Footsteps were so close. A headache pounded behind Kaiba’s eyes to think fast enough to find a way down. As soon he considered something, unaware if it would work, he dragged Mokuba along with him and they ran the length of the box seats, towards the end of the corridor. They practically slammed into the dead end of a wall to stop. On said wall was a single, metal panel that mimicked a breaker box. Kaiba pulled the wire handle and opened it up to reveal an open space, glancing inside it to make sure it ran deep down into the bottom. He reached for a twisted cable in the center.

Reeling the cable up, hand over hand, Kaiba shifted about so that all of Mokuba was shield by his backside.  He nudged the shivering boy against the opening. Mokuba looked down the long shaft. 

“Get in,” Kaiba commanded. Mokuba shot a quizzical look up. “It’s a service elevator. I can’t fit; you can. Get in, go down, and get to safety.”

“Nii-sama...!”

Kaiba shook his head and grabbed Mokuba from the waist, not giving him a choice. The boy slid his knees over the edge, wincing as the thin metal side dig into his skin. Mokuba tumbled onto the small tray and hunched up without much room to squirm. “Use the cable to pull down. All the way to the bottom,” Kaiba instructed. He demonstrated it to Mokuba by beginning to lower him. A single hand reached up.

“But Seto...”

Kaiba forced a smile. “I’ll get down; you won’t even noticed I’ve left.”

Pain stabbed in Kaiba’s chest as Mokuba’s eyes filled with tears. He wasn’t able to say another word, registering the sound of footsteps and shouting coming up from behind him. The panel was slammed shut, Mokuba’s terrified face and soft whimper cast from his thoughts. Kaiba turned to face whatever was coming for him, determined to not become a liar. 

—

The entire arena buzzed in wonder as soon as the power went out. The screens surrounded the edges of the arena went blank, and whatever ventilation that made sitting in the stands bearable had died. Security and staff were confused and unresponsive at first, trying to keep all of those present calm and orderly though they were unable to be stopped as they began to wander out of the their seats and into the stairwells and causeways like an extended intermission.

Those out on the main field were urged to return inside until the problem was solved, but weren’t forced. Joey and Yugi stayed planted on a bench on the sidelines, chatting with the finalists. If the heat had knocked out the electricity, they reasoned, then the inside wasn’t going to be any better.

Joey even joked with the finalists, doing a terrible impression of his boyfriend lurking about and fuming over the fact that the power had go out (“So much time and money wasted, blah, blah blah” he said). To embellish his story further,  he pointed towards the skybox, to the shadows of sponsor and broadcasters, even using his finger to outline Kaiba himself, buzzing about inside it as soon as everything had shut down. 

It was all smiles and laughter, even having Yugi chuckle behind his hand, as Joey planted himself back on the bench and bowed his head away from the blistering sun. 

It wasn’t until a gunshot rang out somewhere above that panic set it. Those in the stands went from idly wandering in the stairs to trampling down them, climbing over seats and one another, to make it towards the exits. On the field, all those exposed were being corralled into a tunnel that could funnel them to an exit. Joey had jumped up from his sat and snapped his gaze about, trying to figure out where the sound came from. A second gunshot, and his eyes focused on the skybox, to the chaos inside it, and to Roland’s back on the sky bridge that connected to it to the rest of the arena. 

“Joey!” Yugi shouted. “Where are you going?”

The blond hadn’t realised that he had ran further out into the arena on order to get a better look at the chaos. His eyes skittered about and locked onto outline of the Kaiba brothers while they struggled in the skybridge. “I gotta do somethin’, Yug’!”

“Joey, no!”

Yugi’s voice fell on deaf ears, and he was unable to push past the burly security guards who had made it their mission to sweep everyone off the field, overlooking the one stray person who went full sprint in the opposite direction of safety.  

Joey first tried out the dead elevator before it dawned on him that no electricity meant no useful amenities. He spun around, finding the emergency stairwell and climbing up it, tripping several times as he tried to run over his own feet. Frustrated, he went down on all four limbs to propel himself up faster. By the third floor, Joey heard a folly of footsteps, and he burst in excitement as he bounded up to see who was there.

A strong hand pinned him against the wall. A masked man stood eye to eye with him, shouting in a foreign language and slamming Joey against the corner again. All of it culminated in Joey hooking the man in the jaw as hard as he could. The man backed up, and before he could recover, Joey grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and slung him as hard as he could down the stairs. He didn’t wait to see the result, bouncing around to decide his next course of action. 

“Seto!” He shouted. His voice echoed up the stairwell. Where he stood was just a landing and a door, and it left Joey with no indication of where to go. The idiocy of this plan dawned on him while he still ascended the stairs. Running headfirst into danger because he worried about what might happen to Kaiba. All the knowledge of Kaiba’s security detail and the CEO’s own regimented training had flown from his mind at the sound of the first gunshot. What was he expecting to accomplish barehanded? The reprimand from Kaiba was already worming itself into his eardrums. It was too late, Joey thought, he was knee deep in this. And the consolation was, if he hadn’t passed Kaiba already, he was bound to meet him along the way. Power with numbers? That would be the argument he would present to and douse Kaiba’s anger...and worry. He hoped it was more worry than anything.

Running headlong up the stairs, his vigor rejuvenated at the thought of reuniting with Kaiba and assuring he was safe, Joey was stunned when he ran face first into the chest that was more cinderblocks than skin under cotton. His foot slipped, and he caught the railing to stop from tumbling.

The man was talking, more foreign words were shouted in Joey’s face. “I don’t speak your fuckin’...language...”

Joey faced down the barrel of a gun, and he tried to take a step back down, his back touching another chest. His hands balled up into fists to try and slam into the solar plexus of the person behind him, but an arm coiled tight around his neck, with immediate numbing results. He tried clawing at the arm, kicking at the legs that were beginning to carry him down the stairs. The more he fought and writhed, the harder the vicegrip squeezed around his neck. The gun stayed poised between his eyes, even as they walked backwards and planted back onto the third floor landing. He was slowly taken through the metal door, his heels skidding to try and stop. He had a perfect view of another masked person tumbling down the stairs.

Kaiba and Roland stepped down and into view just after, the former’s fists clenched at his sides, the latter bearing his weapon about, speaking hushed to Kaiba. 

Joey opened his mouth to scream. The arm flexed tighter. A gloved hand, thick with the smell of tobacco and gunpowder, clamped over his mouth and nose. A pointer finger extend out to the pair that were coming up behind the man with the gun. Joey tried to shake his head, do anything to make noise, but disappeared behind the door and into the arms of other men before either Kaiba or his security head could look over.

Roland walked ahead of Kaiba, gun poised out while they stepped over the motionless bodies that lay at their feet. As they reached the landing, Roland lingered to check and be sure nothing came from above while Kaiba stepped down.

Kaiba faltered, breathless, cheeks and neck beet red and ablaze from the non-stop movement in the last few minutes. He was sweating so much that it slid from his forehead and burned his eyes, nearly blinding him, and a swipe of the sweat from his wrist did little to assuage it. Not in tight, humid, unventilated places like the stairwell. He had to catch himself on the railing to not trip on the last step, with Roland clapping a hand on his shoulder to try and bring him ease. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Tired,” Kaiba answered. From the moment he was approached on the fourth floor, to meeting up with Roland in the stairwell, it had been an all out brawl and it seemed as though they were able to move a few feet at a time. Kaiba wiped at his eyes with the butt of his palms. He sucked in a greedy breaths, even though the stiff air in the stairwell felt like he was sucking in sand, instead. With resolve, Kaiba added: “Mokuba’s waiting. Two more flights. Let’s keep moving.”

The man had a hand on Kaiba’s back to steady him while the CEO gathered his bearings, still wiping the sweat from his eyes, and nodded in agreement.

“Sir—!” Roland shouted. With little warning, Kaiba’s shoulder was clutched tight, his body flung back and away. Roland turned and pointed the gun somewhere towards corner. Kaiba cleared his eyes out in time to be deafened by a near point blank gunshot blast—to watch a bullet shred through Roland’s right eye and temple before he could pull the trigger. To catch a shower of blood and brain matter splatter in his eyes. To feel the warmth of the red fluid as it dripped down his cheeks and into the crack between his lips. 

Kaiba’s ringing ears didn’t hear the second shot, nor his own cry, as the bullet seared through his side.

But from the other side of the door, Joey heard it all loud and clear.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the number of chapters. Originally was going to be three, changed it to five. May still fluctuate, depending on how this all goes. 
> 
> Dark themes only darken.

A mass of people had formed a tight circle around Mokuba once he emerged, sprinting, from the east side of the arena. He was disoriented, twisting and turning every which way in search of his older brother. Everyone shouted questions at him and threw themselves towards him, demanding his attention, but none of them were familiar faces.

Arms and hands were pushed out of the way and ducked under. Security tried to quell the crowd and make a human barricade around the trembling boy. Once separated, they ushered Mokuba away from the screeching mass of people and towards an EMT’s cart. His eyes still searched the faceless sea of people.

Yugi stood out.

Before security was able to sit him down on the cart, he bolted over to Yugi and tugged on his sleeve, almost toppling him over. “HaveyouseenSeto?”

“Mokuba slow down I—Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Yugi asked.

Mokuba’s eyes were red rimmed and wide as saucers. They skittered about Yugi’s face, searching for an answer. But it wasn’t the eyes that struck Yugi so much as the four long and deep scratch marks that ran from Mokuba’s ear down to his chin.

“I’m fine. Have you seen my brother?”

Security guards lingered behind Mokuba, making a makeshift barrier between him and anyone else. The grip on Yugi’s sleeve was tightening, begging for a reply.

Yugi’s face fell. “No. Not yet,” Mokuba’s hands dropped, crestfallen. “But I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. He’s gotta be around here somewhere. Have you tried calling him or—?”

“No. I-I musta dropped my phone,” Mokuba said in a wobbled voice. As he turned away from Yugi, his fingers gingerly touched around his ear, feeling down it and the scratch marks on his cheek. His earpiece was missing too, and with much lamentation. He whispered as he asked: “Can I—can I borrow yours?”

Yugi strained to hear Mokuba’s small voice. Digging in his pocket, he produced his phone and handed it over. Mokuba’s fingers whizzed over the keys and pressed it to his ear. All of his nervous energy couldn’t be contained, and the boy bounced in his place while the phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Not even to a voicemail. Someone had ended the call before he could hear Kaiba’s voice. The phone stayed glued to ear until it felt like his arm became lead and dropped to his side. Yugi approached Mokuba and put a hand his shoulder. The boy bristled and shuddered away from the touch.

“It’s gonna be okay; they’ll turn up here soon.”

Security had wedged their way in between Yugi and Mokuba, for good measure, with an EMT brought to him instead. They offered him water and an ice pack, one nudging his chin in their direction to clean up the cuts on his face.

“‘They’? Whaddya mean, ‘they’?” Mokuba asked.

Yugi wasn’t sure how much more news Mokuba could take. Not at the moment; he was too distraught and tightly wound. A guitar string about to snap. “I can’t find Joey, either. He hasn’t come back yet.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Two letters. An atom bomb to the stricken child. Yugi had to face that fact, too: Mokuba was still a child, no matter how mature he acted. And he was still susceptible to fear and anguish no matter how many times these sorts of tragedy happened. Yugi saw the sort of people that both brothers became in an effort to save one another: determined, underhanded, and destructible. Mokuba had to be kept close by, Yugi reasoned, because he could see the boy running back into the fray regardless of the cost. Maybe it was a good thing that he seemed so catatonic while security asked for the details of what had happened.

—

Blood and sweat pooled together on Kaiba’s face and ran down his nose. His bangs congealed to his forehead and brows. His eyes didn’t open at first, stick together by the crusted mess, sprinkled with a touch of salt just to make them burn whenever they did pry open.

He wasn’t out for long, if at all. Time didn’t pace itself well in his mind, and he had a vague recollection of being pulled or carried, fighting it the entire way. They hadn’t gone far; it was still stuffy, and the room he was placed in smelled of old cement with a touch of turpentine. It did nothing to ease the headache forming behind his eyes, nor the nausea.

Kaiba’s head lulled back, expecting air, but instead finding the crux where two walls met. Finally, he forced his eyes open, and they swam over the surroundings. It was almost pitch black, a soft filter of light coming through a square of frosted glass across the room. It was, in his best guess, a door, though it seemed to be several feet higher than normal, even if he sitting on the floor. Rocking his body assured him that he was on a concrete floor of some kind. It couldn’t have been too large of a room: it was sweltering and stuffy, and made it so easy to disassociate how long he had been dazed.

Kaiba raised his hand to try and wipe away the the sweat from his forehead. Two things became apparent: he had been shot, which he remembered just then (but still didn’t believe in spite of the pin-prick pain in his side), and that his wrists were zip-tied together. In front of him, oddly enough. Which had his head cant to the side as he pulled them close to his face to make them out. He wriggled in the restraint. They were tight, his hands a little more chilled than the rest of him, but he could still feel his fingers. And feel that they were covered in something darker than his skin tone. Darker and viscous...

Blood.

His or Roland’s? Kaiba asked himself.

Roland...

Kaiba squeezed his eyes shut against and held in a gasp as the nausea hit him like a tidal wave. The image, compared to everything else, was sharp and defined. Frame by frame. Second by second. His eyes opened again and he tried to bring on his body, to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. His legs stretched out in front of him and were unbound. Several pats at his lap revealed to him that his jacket had been stripped off of him and laid in lap. Pressing his fingers the fabric, he got around to finding that microphone and earpiece were still attached to the lapel.

Why?

Kaiba went to pull his knees up, to use the wall to stand, but was dissuaded by the stabbing sensation in his side. A spurt of blood burbled under his shirt.

Readjusting, he chose move the left leg only and shift to that side to ease the numbness in his lower back. His hands moved around to pat his pockets. Emptied—not a surprise, why would they leave him his phone?

Why would they leave him his radio?

Kaiba fingered the earpiece and clutched it tight while maneuvering to unclip the microphone from the lapel. The two pieces were held together by a single wire, attached to nothing else. He wrapped it around his ear and pressed it so it wouldn’t slide off; his fingers pinched down on the microphone.

“Mokuba,” Kaiba rasped. His throat had turned to sandpaper. Clearing it, Kaiba paused to listen to the dead air when he pressed onto the microphone. It was connecting to something, which meant his phone was nearby. “Mokuba, if you hear me, respond.”

The button was let go; a second was given for a reply. Quiet. Profound quiet, exacerbated by the darkness.

“Please respond,” Kaiba said. He intended for his voice to be strong and commanding, but it broke into a beg as he let the microphone go.

“ _Mokuba can’t come to the phone._ ”

Kaiba’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to stand up. His hands were quick to press the microphone again. “Who is this? Where’s Mokuba?”

“ _Pick a number: one, two, or three._ ”

“What?”

“ _Pick a number, Mr. Kaiba. Or I pick for you._ ”

“I don’t play games with strangers. Who is this?” Kaiba demanded. Anger pumped enough adrenaline through him to spring up and shoulder the wall and head towards the elevated light. Pain was splitting his side open. It put a stutter in his run, which wasn’t improved when his shins hit an elevated surface and he fell forward, unable to catch himself. A grunt of pain escaped his lungs involuntarily. His entire body stalled while he tried to figure out what had happened. Stairs. His body was laying against stairs, and it ached because of them.

“ _Number two has been selected for you, Mr. Kaiba._ ”

“No! You will tell me who you are!”

Kaiba pressed his forearms against one of the steps while his knees pulled up on another. It wasn’t more than five or six steps, and they were better outlined the closer he got to the window. The door, he corrected. It was a door. An exit.

Logic had to take precedent here. It had to help him through this dilemma somehow. Legs unbound, a door within reach far too easily. With minimal effort, and Kaiba had brought himself to stand and reached the door, his hand slipping on the handle. It didn’t budge. Why should it? He peered through the frosted glass. No distinct shapes or colors.

He sat down on the top step and leaned against the door, wondering what the outcome of his ‘choice’ was. What it meant. All the while, he thinking about how all this was happening and what the details meant.

Both radios were operational. Each specific radio was coded to work off of a specific cell phone, though it didn’t use the number or signal, just the connectivity so long as they stayed within range. His radio wouldn’t work with Mokuba’s phone and Mokuba’s radio wouldn’t work with his phone. Which implied that his phone was close enough to allow for his radio to work—and so was Mokuba’s.

He had failed.

Kaiba began pounding on the door, a noise of anger and pain vented out of him until his voice broke. Until his body felt heavy and exhausted. It was painful on a molecular level, to know he tried his damndest and hadn’t succeeded in pressing Mokuba to safety. Again.

His hands stiffened from smacking the door, and his arms shivered involuntarily. A hiccup rippled through his body and hit hard in his stomach; he wasn’t going to break down just yet, biting hard on the inside of his cheek to prevent the tears that threatened to show themselves. If Mokuba was nearby, then there was a chance he was alive. And if he was alive, there was a chance to save him.

“ _I wouldn’t waste your energy too soon. You’ll be needing it,_ ” the voice on the radio said. It startled Kaiba out of his thoughts and fears, and he returned his eyes to the window. He pushed down a step or more, thinking someone would come in at any moment to demonstrate whatever ‘number two’ was.

“Why?” Kaiba asked the voice.

No one answered. No one came.

So Kaiba gripped the card-shaped locket still hung around his neck, and he kept his eyes on the door, waiting.

—

Joey was uncomfortable. Each hand was tied behind him on the thin poles of the chair. Something like a leather belt ran across his breast to strap him to a chair—a cheap chair that made his butt numb. A makeshift gag, from the towel Roland had given him, was in his mouth to stop his incessant shouting and grunting. Noise-cancelling headphones, he assumed, were on his ears. He had to pee.

All of his shaking and shuddering in the chair did nothing. It, like all the others in the tiny auditorium, were bolted to the ground on a single pole, or so his bare feet had found. He faced a wall covered in egg-carton shaped soundproofing. Had it been that way before they had dragged him there?

A single, thin light stood upright, not connected to an outlet, and left an inorganic blue-green glow in the room. The man that had likely dragged him there walked around, a cell phone in his hand. He fiddled with it before setting it on a side table filled with other objects Joey couldn’t quite make out, though he man seemed to admire a small, velvet, square box, turning it in his hand before setting it down again. He picked up a hand gun as he approached Joey and ripped the headphones off.

“Can you hear me, Mr. Wheeler?” Joey’s eyes squinted at the man as he grunted. “Good, I’m going to show you something fun.”

Fun? What could have been fun? All he had been thinking about, all he had been grunting about, was what had happened to Kaiba. Why he had heard a gunshot and then his boyfriend’s scream. He imagined the worst possibilities and caused himself to hyperventilate with anger, biting down harder on the towel.

The chair was whipped around a breakneck speed. Joey was already woozy. At some point they had struck him in the head just to subdue him into the chair in the first place. It hadn’t rendered him unconscious, just made a headache. And there was now dizziness to add to it, too.

His eyes focused on this new wall that wasn’t a wall. Not all of it. Most of it was a window looking down into a near pitch black room that seemed several feet deeper than the one he was in. Like a voyeur watching from above. At first, he couldn’t see anything that was going on, nor did he have a hint that anything was even in the room. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dimmed lights, seeing a glint of someone as they stumbled down the stairs.

Joey’s eyes widened, and he pulled as far as the restraints would allow him.

The masked man moved the light a little closer to the door so that Joey could see a better outline. It was a flash, the brunet’s head snapping towards it. Most of his face and hair was covered in blood. He struggled to breathe. He couldn’t seem to find a way to stand.

“Sa-ha!” He screamed, bastardising the name through the towel but hoping Kaiba could hear him. After so many moments, Kaiba had disappeared, going towards a door that Joey gathered was shared by both of them when he could hear the pounding from the other side. Joey tried to stamp his feet around, the bare soles thumping against carpeted floor.

“So, Mr. Wheeler, you and Mr. Kaiba are going to play a game today. It’s a real easy game, all you have to do is pick the numbers one, two, or three.” The gloved hand before him raised its fingers as he spoke. “It was Mr. Kaiba’s turn first. He decided not to chose, so I picked for him.”

The towel was pulled away from Joey’s mouth. Somewhere in the middle of the talking, the gun was put in the waist of the man’s pants, and the phone was picked up again. A camera flash went off in Joey’s face.

“You piece of shit! I swear when I get out of here I’ll...”

“Language, Mr. Wheeler. It’s just a photo. Nothing too serious, either, look at you. You think he’ll like it?” The phone screen was turned towards him.

The phone started ringing before he could see the picture that was taken. The ever familiar sound of an old office telephone. Kaiba’s tone for someone work related. It was quickly muted. “What’ve you done to ‘im?”

“Oh, I would worry less about what I’ve done to him and more about what he might do to you. And, Mr. Wheeler, your time starts now. Pick a number: one, two, or three.” The towel was replaced in his mouth.

Joey watched intensely as the man walked over to the window and turned up a dial that was to the side of it. He then went to the door, and turned the bolt lock on it, slipping in and closing it behind him. Joey tried to yelp, reacting a little too late. “Sa-ha! Sa-ha!”

His voice broke as he strained to enunciate his boyfriend’s name. Kaiba had to hear him, had to know that he was alive so that the terrible picture wasn’t hours old or deceptive.

With the door opened, and with fresh flash of light permeating the room, Kaiba had attempt d to look around the room, staring at something to the left side of the door. The window? Could he see Joey? In a room with nothing else other than it being distinctly concave, what else was there to stare at? They were in some kind of observation room, paired with the theatre suite above that Joey was in. If the blond recalled the layout of the arena correctly, they were in some kind of place that duelists were tested.

Joey felt helpless to watch as Kaiba reacted to the man who had entered. He had stood, wobbling on his feet to try and approach. The gun was poised in his face. Joey shook his head, watched as Kaiba took a step back.

And heard it, too.

His brows furrowed as he listened to Kaiba’s feet shuffle against the ground. His ear turned more towards the noise, with Kaiba’s labored breathing audible as well. “I have a present for you, Mr. Kaiba,” the man said.

“What have you done with Mokuba?”

Joey’s face twitched at the pain he could hear in Kaiba’s voice. A high staccato at the end of his words. He couldn’t tell, through the mess of blood, what had happened to Kaiba, or where he’d been shot.

“Around your neck there, isn’t he?” Kaiba’s hand clamped around the locket before dropping away. “But I get to show you this.”

The phone was revealed, with a bit more light engulfing the room. Kaiba didn’t take his eyes off the image, hands out to try and grab for the phone. “Ah-ah. Don’t touch. Isn’t your little boy toy so expressive?”

“You will let him go,” Kaiba commanded. He closed the space between the him and the masked man, standing almost a head over his captor. His bound hands folded together and reeled back to strike.

The phone was lowered, the room dimmed of light, and the gun raised to Kaiba’s forehead again. “You don’t listen very well, Mr. Kaiba. No touching.”

Joey pulled so hard that the belt was rubbing and biting into his skin, hoping enough effort would make the belt break. The man kept forcing Kaiba backwards, until the reached a wall and the muzzle was pressed against his forehead.

“Where’s your bravery? You were about to hit me a minute ago.”

Even before it was said, Joey could see Kaiba winding up again, this time twisting his lower half and trying reaching out to sweep kick at his captor’s legs. The gun fired; Kaiba dropped, and Joey cried out. His eyes squeezed closed, unwilling to see the mess, and his feet kicking as though he would paddle himself closer to the window. They narrowly opened, trying to focus through the fear and the rage. The spindly body of his boyfriend slumped on the floor.

The masked man emerged through the door, locking it behind him. The gun was back in his waistband. The dial on by the window was turned again. No more sound. He didn’t look at Joey as he went over to the light and turned it to face the wall behind them both. Any light that was filtered into the room below had disappeared. He couldn’t even make out Kaiba’s outline on the wall.

“Have you picked your number, Mr. Wheeler?” The man asked, and strode over, tugging the towel out of Joey’s mouth.

“You sonuvabitch. Ya have any fuckin’ clue who the hell you’re messin’ with? Huh? That’s...that’s...S-Seto....” it was hurting to say his name. An unwilled gasp escaped when he looked back to the window.

“Have you picked your number, Mr. Wheeler? Pick one, or I pick for you.”

Joey’s head dropped, and he held his breath. Kaiba wasn’t dead, there was no way he was dead. No, it hadn’t happened. Why keep his asking him to pick a number? “Three,” Joey mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wheeler, I didn’t hear you.”

“Three, you bastard! Three! What the fuck did ya do to him?” Joey kept swivelling his vision between the window, praying to see Kaiba, and back to the masked man, demanding his answers. “Whaddya want from ‘im? Money? Ya...ya didn’t kill him if ya want money. No way. Yer...yer fuckin’ with us...ya gotta be fuckin’ with us.”

“Three,” the man repeated. A thin knife was taken from the tray and fiddle with, twisted in his fingers.

Quickly, he was out of Joey’s view, but not without effort for the blond. “What did ya do! You didn’t kill ‘em. You didn’t! Fuck you, you d-didn’t! Y-ya come back here...!” There was the sound of a door closing behind him, and his attention turned back to the window, scanning every corner for a flash of movement. Cold sweat collected on the back of his neck. He writhed in the restraints until he rubbed any open skin raw. Any words that he tried to form came out blubbered.

The loneliness in the room was only exacerbated by the sound of his own thoughts and the echo of his hiccups. Every so often he would look up to the window and see his messy reflection staring back from the charcoal room. He didn’t even watch, not until Kaiba slumped down the wall. He should have been able to do something, anything. Said something.

He should have went with Kaiba to see Mokuba. That’s what he should have done. He didn’t know if it would have mattered, but he would have had better words to recall last. As Joey faded in and out, the tears dried out and mellowed into a dull headache. It pulsated an image each time, which Joey tried to shake away. The smile that softened Kaiba’s features, lessened the sharpness in his cheeks and severity in his eyes. That rare, genuine smile that Joey knew he had been privileged to. He wanted to see one last genuine smile. 

Joey laughed, unable to comprehend this situation. This dangling loneliness. He didn’t understand the how or the why.

He nodded out with the skeleton of a smile on his face.

—

Stunned was too weak of a word. As soon as he saw the image of Joey, caught candid mid-yell, one eyelid drooped and swollen. A dribble of dried blood on his cheek. Rage welled, and before he knew, he had been backed into the wall. The warm metal of the muzzle pinched into his forehead. Kaiba had started thinking of things he hadn’t considered of before. Questions he hadn’t asked himself. There had been some dark points in his life, parts that questioned every bit of his existence, what it meant to feel human. He had been subdued, confined, threatened, and left to sit in his own mind for far too long before. The few who knew him intimately may have called him a survivor. He’d thought he’d fought through perils and against people who couldn’t have wished any worse on him or Mokuba.

This was so vastly different.

When the thumbnail pushed through the small hole in his shirt, through the bullet wound in his skin...and wriggled, he almost threw up. His knees gave out, his head ducked down and eyes swam back in head. It was an arctic cold that washed over his body, nearly painless but jumping his heart up into his throat. A single finger used his body against him like a puppet master. The gunshot was happened at nearly the same time, and instinct kicked his head back and away from the danger, unaware of where it struck. He had drilled his head into the wall instead.

There he sat, paralyzed in thought, dazed to his soon dimmed surroundings, unsure of when the thumb slipped out of the wound or when the room became solitary again. He especially wasn’t sure when he heard familiar, disembodied laughter.

Joey. Always smiling, red-cheeked, demanding affection, and hanging off Kaiba’s shoulders to lean in for a quick peck on the nose while Kaiba hankered to pull away. How they always played and nipped at one another.

“ _Love you too, asshole._ ”

Kaiba heard to over and over again, like a broken record, with every pulse of the increasing migraine. He wasn’t even sure if he was fully conscious in the blackness. He could have very well been dead and just didn’t know. After all, he didn’t see Joey.

He only heard Joey’s laughter.

“I should’ve said I love you,”Kaiba mumbled in his turtleneck, wondering if he’d ever had the chance again. “Should’ve...”

More laughter.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foray a little further, shall we?

_A different arena, a different day, a different tournament. Cold, overcast. Joey’s arms prickled with goosebumps in the chill. He had almost been late, he had gotten lost on the way. It was a miracle they let him through.  
_

_He stood before his opponent, an empty, forgotten face from that day. All of the people blended together; he didn’t recall them. The scoreboard didn’t show any numbers or names, just flashed pictures and gibberish. Everything was grey, blurred, unimportant in the grand scheme._

_Except the sidelines. A row of chairs, judges and referees? There was also the defined outline of a haughty Seto Kaiba, arms and legs crossed, dressed as flamboyant as ever. Leather pants and one of his the overindulgent dusters, shaded in sapphire. There was an umbrella over his head, held by Roland, who seemed just as washed out as everyone else. Only the sunglasses stood out. Kaiba stared at Joey, unblinking._

_Heavy rain began. It left Joey chilled, his breath visible. He could hardly focus on the duel. The cards were getting wet and felt slick, weak, in his fingers. A blink, and they were off to the sidelines, the duel postponed. Joey hugged his arms around himself, clothes soaked through. Rain, like sharp drops of ice, pattered on his head and pitted at his skin. He didn’t complain._

_And it stopped hitting him, though it was still in front of his face. A glance up, the outline of a black umbrella, with a ‘KC’ on one of the flaps. A glance over, seeing Roland holding the umbrella over him._

_Kaiba stood in the rain, drenched immediately, his bangs stuck to his cheeks and forehead; his coattails lost their shape as the rain wrapped them around his long legs. “For your duel disk,” Kaiba said._

_So why stand in the rain? For him? He was happy the cold chapped his cheeks. Joey rolled his eyes, and said, sarcastic: “So generous. Don’t go catchin’ a cold on my account.”_

_Another umbrella popped up over Kaiba. “I won’t. You had better not, either.”_

_Joey did a double take, but Kaiba wasn’t staring anymore...._

...

The sound of a door slamming woke Joey. He hadn’t even noticed that he had fallen asleep, but the crick in his neck told him that it had been long enough to become stiff and ache. He still had to pee, worse than before, and could barely shift his hips to make his legs press together.

Reality sank back in, though the dream felt so vivid and real, the rain was falling down his arms and neck. Even in the oppressive heat, he wanted to shudder at the chill. Such a strange and simple gesture that Kaiba made then, an umbrella over his head, and it seemed so meaningless at first.

A frown.

The window was still dark, the light still pushed to the furthest place away. Joey’s eyes flicked up to the man that was walking around the room, something new in his hands. A tabloid, opened to a central page and held there and observed. Like someone on the train reading to pass the time. “Gotta catch up on yer gossip?”

His wrists turned and writhed in the restraints. There was little slack in them, but they were thin, whatever they were. If it came down to it, he could dislocate his thumbs to get out. A momentary pain if it meant being able to tackle the antagonist before him, take a knife, and...Joey sighed as he looked back to the door.

“Pick a number: two, three, or four.”

Joey leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes closed. “Why? If...if you...did what, no, no...”he shook his head and felt sick to his stomach, still not wanting to believe it. There wasn’t an unmoving body on display in the other room.

“Pick a number, Mr. Wheeler. Or I pick for you.”

Joey’s lip wobbled. What would picking three again do? “Two.”

A quick nod, and the man pulled the gag back up onto Joey before he went to the door and inside the other room. A brief gleam of light wasn’t enough to catch any movement before it closed again. Kaiba seemed unmoved from the wall. His teeth sunk into the towel, gnawing on it out of anger and frustration. His breath picked up, sucking in short breaths behind the cloth. That dream felt so real, so close, and he recalled his awe from that day.

Not that Kaiba looked at Joey again after that. Not even when he had scraped by, winning the tournament. Not for weeks, even though he had found himself thinking back to that moment. And then he came home to duel sponsorship offers. One from Schroeder Corp., and one from KaibaCorp.

The man came back out and stepped towards Joey and orbited around him. Steel of a knife, warm as the room they were in, grazed along his jaw. He caught sight of the man fiddling with something that was hanging out of the mask, pulling it from his ear and wrapping it around Joey’s. Another piece hung against his shoulder. Kaiba and Mokuba’s fancy radio?

More panic set in, his feelings now more aligned with Kaiba: where was Mokuba? The towel was yanked out of his mouth as if on cue.

“Where’s Mokuba, huh? What’d ya do with him? I swear to God, if you hurt a hair on that kid’s head...”

The restraint on Joey’s left wrist was cut off, his wrist held and hand manipulated by an painful press of a thumb in his palm. The blade of the knife was forced into his hand until his fingers pressed closed around it, and held so as the man manuevered his arm up. His hand was stopped by the dangling piece. His fingers were pried away from the knife. “Hold onto the microphone, if your hand drops off it...” the statement was unfinished.

Twitching finger extended slow, tips grasping at the dangling piece and feeling the switch on the side with his thumbnail. The knife had slipped out of his palm. Who was he about to talk to? His voice dried up behind parted lips. What if this was a trap? His nail pulled off the switch, head lulled towards the man who had gone back to the window. His hand flicked the dial.

“H-hello?” Joey called. His thumb released from the switch and he leaned into the earpiece, fingers pressing it where it began to slip. A motion he always saw Kaiba make when talking to Mokuba.

“ _Joseph_?”

All of the blood in Joey’s body froze.

—

Authorities had surrounded the arena and pushed out all the unnecessary people who had lingered, in wait, curious and murmuring about what they had heard or seen. Partitions were placed up, with a mix of KaibaCorp security and Domino City police shooing away anyone who continued to get closer to the few people allowed just inside. Beyond them, newscasters stood in a clean row outside the main entrance, giving a play-by-play of the action as it was fed to them. Anyone who had been inside, and was willing to talk, babbled into one of the microphones while KaibaCorp PR attempted to block vital information. Further beyond them, but within sight of the news’ cameras, was a small and disorganised group of protestors with signs. They chanted an amalgamation of noise that couldn’t be fully be comprehended, but their visuals were enough.

Their presence stirred trouble, with police and security bearing down on them as they tried to make themselves the precedent with the media. Police began demanding answers, asking why they were there, when they had arrived, what their motives were. When a rather inept security officer tried to take one of the signs that they jounced in the air, they were met with resistance. Police then were forced to break up the impromptu brawl happening between KaibaCorp’s associates and the protestors, shoving people from each side into squad cars.

Mokuba watched all of it from a secured corner, his emotions buttoned up beyond his initial escape. Even if there was panic in the boy, Yugi couldn’t see or feel it, even with a constant hand settled on Mokuba’s thin shoulders. Anything was a distraction from staring at the unchanging arena. It’s white and high walls hid everything that was happening, creating a grand and sturdy facade for the people had entered, searching for those that may still been in danger or trapped inside. There were unknowns placed before them, the discreet knowledge that Kaiba hadn’t been spotted, that Joey wasn’t around and assuring him that his brother was hard-headed and could take care of himself. That Roland hadn’t attempted to make contact with the young master.

This information had been censored by the media as much as the PR team could manage, at Mokuba’s behest, convinced that Kaiba would come striding out any minute, maybe even dragging one of the masked men behind him.

But Yugi’s phone was pressed between Mokuba’s hands, tried about every half hour in hopes of, if not Kaiba picking up, at least hearing his voice when it hit voicemail. Which it still hadn’t. Another shred of hope, if it existed anywhere at all, was that even if the phone was unanswered, it was silenced before the second ring. He reasoned that Kaiba was in there, trying to find the safest way out, and that his phone making noise was a risk, though he took it in order for his little brother to know that he was alright. They had never come up with a signal if it was Kaiba who was in danger. Just Mokuba. Insofar, if they were to use that as a basis, a quick call to the other before the phone was completely turned off, Kaiba hadn’t used it yet.

Lights flickered above them, and in the arena, with pixels attempting to form on the electronic boards before powering down again. Mokuba stumbled back and into Yugi, leaning against him. “If Kaiba and Joey are together,” Yugi said, trying to interpret Mokuba’s weak motion, “then I know nothing can stop them.”

“Yeah,” Mokuba replied. He knew his brother’s unrelenting nature, especially when it came to the things—the people—that mattered. “They can have their moments. Feels like Joey pulled him out of a slump.”

“Oh?”

Mokuba nodded. “After getting what he wanted with, you know, with Atem and all of that, there was something missing. He needed something and didn’t find it for a long time.”

Yugi regarded Mokuba with knowing eye, having long been on the the receiving end of a Kaiba-centred obsession. An obsession that still, somewhat, reared its head when the thirst needed quenched, though Kaiba was much more civil regarding duels, even if he was antagonising for the theatrics. What good was a game without a rivalry? But even he had to admit, the fire had left once Kaiba recognised what was gone and accepted it. Or as Mokuba had put it once, had explained in brevity like it was a state secret, Kaiba had achieved his goal, whatever the outcome, and needed a new project. Something else to sink his teeth into.

And then Joey walked into his sights.

“Everything’s gonna be just fine,” Yugi said, with nothing much else to say. Another rub of Mokuba’s shoulders, and they were urged to step back at the request of security. Mokuba stayed in his place, close to a fence with the widest view.

A helicopter whooped overhead, flying low and drowning out all of noise. Mokuba’s eyes drew to it, following it as it circled over the arena as though it was looking for a landing spot. Another news station, Mokuba thought, though he moved forward and unconsciously used Yugi’s phone to a snap a picture of it as it went broadside. Black, plain, and unassuming.

  
—

The call of sleep beckoned to Kaiba as his body tried to interpret the myriad of pained and confused signals. His head spun, his side ached, and his limbs felt like they were ready to give out on him. He tried to brace his shoulders against the wall to pull himself up, his legs were in stout refusal.

The pain was the only thing that confirmed to him that everything was real. Disallowing himself in higher beliefs made it easy to reason that if he were dead, he would feel nothing. Be nothing, unthinking. Even trapped in his mind for months on end hadn’t called on the absolute feeling of nothingness. His pragmatics allowed for him to know that he was alive.

And nothing else.

He was in a box, his hands were tied. He was shot. Joey was captive, too. That was all he could conclude, and the more he tried to think of a solution, the more the migraine throbbed. The more laughter he heard, silently cursing its existence, however relieving. Mokuba was his fear, his unknown. Joey was his anchor onto sanity right now, with that infectious, albeit irritating, laughter.

Information was what he needed. Any more cocky attempts, with his body refusing to work with him, wouldn’t do him any favors. So when the door opened, he didn’t lift his head, didn’t move. He refused to allow his captor the pleasure to see him wince and squirm. “Pick a number: two, three, or four.”

Kaiba’s eyes flicked up in a glare before returning back to the floor. His lips pressed tight. Why numbers? Punishments? For him, or for Joey? “Do you have Mokuba?”

“Pick a number, Mr. Kaiba, or I pick for you.”

“I will tell you a number if you tell me whether or not you have Mokuba.”

Silence, with Kaiba wondering if there was any way to appeal to mania. They would not break him. That’s what they wanted, to break him, to play their games. But while he couldn’t say for certain what the game was yet, if it was to endure pain, he would take it, so long as he could get information in the process.

“Number four has been selected for you, Mr. Kaiba.”

Kaiba’s eyes squeezed closed, his teeth grit, and it pained to hear the man walk out the door. His body fell forward, and he laid on his forearms while he tried to pull himself upright, knees first, until he could unfold to his full height, legs protesting or not.

“ _H-hello_?”

Kaiba’s eyes widened to the shaking voice. His hands trembled, lifting slow to the microphone. “Joseph.”

—

Light flooded back into the room, and for the first time, Kaiba could make out another piece of the room. A mirror, one-way. He was in an unfinished room, a training suite for duelists. So he hadn’t been moved far.

“Oh my God...you...you ain’t dead. Shit, Seto, are ya okay? You...you got so much blood on you.” Joey gasped over the radio.

“It’s not all mine,” Kaiba replied. Most of it had dried on his palms already. “I’ll survive. Can you see me?”

“Yeah. In the window. You see me?”

Without seeing Joey, Kaiba had no idea how to fully react to him. Didn’t have his bodily cues to reply to. And when his voice stopped, Kaiba’s stomach dropped. Joey may not come back on the line. Kaiba needed to keep talking. “No. I can’t.”

“What’s happening? Ya know anythin’?” Joey asked.

Kaiba closed his eyes, trying to imagine how Joey might have been moving around when he spoke. Always so animated. “No. Not yet.”

“Okay. Alright, okay....you’re doing okay at least.”

The man stood by the window, eyes between both Kaiba and Joey. A gun was examined with vigor in his hands, poised towards Joey. The blond didn’t let his hand leave the microphone, though he he now had the use of it. Theoretically. There had to be a moment when he could make use of that.

“He hasn’t asked you how you are?” The man asked, and there was a lilt in his tone, an inflection of another language. Like the rest of the brutes. “How selfish.”

Joey blinked, and he spared a glance, having heard the statement, before looking back to Kaiba who was trying to move around the room, favoring his left side. He had to be in shock, not thinking clearly. And they had to work together right now. Those were petty arguments for another time, over what they were having for dinner, or when Kaiba would be home. “We’re bein’ watched.”

“I see,” Kaiba replied. So they had to be careful with their words.

“I’m doin’ okay, by the way. I’m jus’, I think they whacked me over the head.”

Kaiba mulled that detail over, and he had positioned himself in a place where he could be seen in the window. If they were being watched, he wasn’t getting away with anything just at that moment. That still made the window the most obvious vulnerability they had between them.

“Where’d they take you from?” Kaiba asked. “The field?”

“No...no, I came after I heard gunshots,” Joey replied. There was silence on Kaiba’s side, and he feared that the connection would be cut at anytime. The man was moving a little closer to him, gun still poised.

“Why would you do that?” Kaiba asked, and Joey heard the heat rise in his voice.

“Because I knew you and Mokuba were in trouble,” he said. “I know my way around a fight, I was gonna meet up an’...”

There was a squeal in Joey’s ear, and he stared at Kaiba, trying to search for a reason. The brunet was talking, hand held on the microphone, and he could hear it through the glass, but not the earpiece.

“...you even do something so ridiculous?”

The anger was rising. It was tempered, dotted with concern, but Joey could hear the ‘idiot’ tacked onto the end. Kaiba’s voice had a way of saying things without words. “Because I give a shit ‘bout you, that’s why! I coulda handled myself, I...”

“You didn’t. And now look,” Kaiba said. Joey furrowed his brows and shook his head, “you’ve got caught in here, too. I could have handled this myself. You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

Joey’s hand shook on the microphone, not sure how to respond. Kaiba had finally looked away from the mirror, taking careful steps backward. The blond couldn’t decide if he should have been angry, being berated in the midst of this crisis, or if Kaiba was being roundabout in his worry. In the same vein of removing himself from the concern, the affection, knowing that others were watching.

“Ya know I didn’t do it tryin’ to get into trouble.”

“Of course not,” Kaiba scoffed, “or else one of us would be out there looking out for Mokuba.”

“Yeah, guess it’s good you’re fucking right,” snarled Joey. “But we can get him out together. Will get him out. Ya hear me, Seto? We’ll go home, and I’ll cook us curry rice. We’ll all sit in the kitchen talkin’ ‘bout how Mokuba doesn’t want to stay local for college...and...”Joey went crestfallen. They didn’t even know where Mokuba was, or if he was in danger, and if this was the best that Kaiba could hold himself up, shielding his worry with anger, then Joey could understand. “I love you. Ya know? We’re gonna get outta this. We will.”

“You two are really worth a tabloid,” the masked man said.

Kaiba turned his back to the window, and that one motion, caught for a second by Joey, told him all that he needed. His body couldn’t keep up with his own force, feet almost catching over one another as he tried to reclaim his ramrod posture and gait, though couldn’t where his arms were bound in front of him. He almost stumbled down and fell, though he had quickly regained footing as he reached the furthest wall. His entire body was in Joey’s view, and it wasn’t for sympathetic effect. Kaiba wouldn’t ask for his pity, nor want it.

“Or maybe not...” the mask added. “Doesn’t seem to share the love.”

Something was being done, Joey guessed. He was too front and center, especially as Kaiba eased himself around with back flattened against the wall. Joey could see it in his face, eyes flicking back and forth, searching for reason in his silence.

From inside, Kaiba could only guess seen and what wasn’t. The simple motion was to gather the size of the window, the abstract height of it, versus his own. Climbing out wasn’t going to work, even if he thought that he could reach it from the stairs. There was too much space. That, and he had nothing to even break the window with. He just had everything on his person. Necklace, clothes, belt, shoes.

As Kaiba’s hands reached to up his body, fingers shaking along the chain of his locket, clutching it tight and pulling it forward, the card shaking as it seemed to level with the window, before it dropped and his hands went to the microphone but not pressing.

The lights flickered on, for a brief moment, and Kaiba looked up at them, so high in the ceiling, before they faded out again.

And Joey saw the masked man looked up and about the room, briefly distracted, enough that he had pulled hard on the ties on his wrist while the other fell back to try and give him more room. It was unimaginable pain to rub and pull at the restraint, to buckle and force his thumb underneath it, pushing as hard as he could with the other. He hadn’t thought it would be so hard to push it out of place—it had been so easy on others.

The man ran up to him, gun still wielded, as Joey freed his other hand with a wail of agony. They were both out ahead of him, eyes awash with tears where the digit throbbed, loosened from its socket. They were both in front of his face, grabbing for the hand that held the gun. He kicked his feet searching the floor for traction as his body began to slip down and out of the leather restraint across his chest.

The gun fired, with Joey’s hands digging into the man’s gloves. All the noise around him buzzed to nothingness at the blast, and felt something burn across his cheek. He fell down to the floor completely, landing haphazard and kicking himself away. He was up onto his feet in an instant, barrelling forward, deaf to the world around him, slamming shoulder first into the masked man and thrusting him into the nearby table. The gun clattered on the floor.

“—seph?” Kaiba’s voice, stern.

Joey kicked it away from both of them as he attempted to get the man in a sloppy chokehold from the side, quickly socked in the stomach and doubling backwards into the row of observation seats.

“Joey?” Kaiba’s voice, strained.

Rolling from off the seats, Joey pivoted back towards the gun, convinced it was necessary to help them escape this, but the man grabbing him by the collar at the same time Joey tried to pummel him with a right hook. It was in spite of the pain in his thumb, cursing his adrenaline. He switched to the left, hitting wherever he could manage to punch and make contact, knowing he had socked the man in he middle of the face at least once. He could feel something like a nose break under his knuckles. Without pause, he was quick to knee the man between the legs, giving him as much time as was necessary to turn and scramble back to the gun. Which was no longer in sight.

“Joey?” Kaiba’s voice, weak.

The blond was determined to find it, hearing his voice called, though he never had a chance to respond.

His arm was rigged sharply behind him, twisted until his shoulder strained and his wrist felt like it was going to break. A knife was at his throat. But it was none of this that held him in place. Instead, it was staring at the opened door, to a revolver barrel in his face while a thumb pulled the hammer back. It was brandished by a man with pink hair, dressed far too elegantly for this given moment.

“I thought I asked for Mokuba, but I suppose you’ll work just as well.”

Joey’s lips trembled the name, confused: “Schroeder?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never wrote Zigfried! Yay?


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew what I wanted to do, but I just wasn’t sure how to accomplish it with this one. I kept changing so many different ways that a series of events could have happened...the back half of this probably took the most time....
> 
> Anyways, the last chapter shouldn’t take as long.

The lights flickered on again, for just a few seconds, before dying out again.

The closer that Joey inspected Kaiba, after being dragged down into the same sunken square that had been his lover’s holding cell, the more he noticed just how much effort Kaiba was putting in to keep up the appearance of being fine. The way his breath staggered, forced to even out through widened nostrils and closed lips, or how he would fight to straighten his back against the chair they had forced him to sit in, only to slouch his shoulders and lean to his left side. A narrow squint of the cobalt eyes, still blazing bright against the rust-coloured blood marring his forehead and cheeks, spoke volumes to Joey in the moments that passed them by. Kaiba didn’t speak, just observed.

That they were so close to one another, facing each other down with their knees almost touching, felt as intimate as it was wrong. Were there a table between them, they would be having breakfast. Kaiba would be talking over his head about the less private details regarding the current fiscal quarter, always prompted by an article that Joey began to read aloud on the back of the Wall Street Journal. In return, Joey would lean his cheek in his palm and listen, nodding, even if he had no way to reply. He just liked hearing Kaiba’s voice.

His hands had been bound again, this time in front of him, just the same as his lover. No care spared for the swollen thumb, crossed over top of the other as it pulsated. Kaiba had noticed it, he’d seen the way the brunet did him a once over as he was planted in the chair by the masked man’s meaty hands.

“All together again,” Zigfried said, his hand brushing across Joey’s shoulders. The blond flinched from the touch, pulling himself forward, before a meaty hand pulled him back. He heard a gun cock, felt it press into the back of his head. “Go on, old friend, tell Joey how much you missed him.”

Kaiba didn’t have to be told to keep still, didn’t have to be forced. Not with the gun at Joey’s head. The pistol in Zigfried’s hand was waved about like a toy, never aimed, but finger always on the trigger.

“No words for one another? That’s a shame. Especially from you, Mr. Wheeler. I hear you’re quite the mouth of the relationship.”

Did Kaiba want him to talk? He swallowed thickly instead, and dropped his eyes to their feet. His scuffed up sneakers were pigeon-toed inward, Kaiba’s had lost their spit-shine, something dark marring the toes, but his ankles were together and toes pointed forward. Joey mimed the position.

“And such a cute couple too, hm, old friend?” said Zigfried, taking steps around to Kaiba’s back and reaching his free hand to brace his captive’s chin with his fingertips. Kaiba leaned his head to the side, though the hand stayed. “I think this game will be just as fun with him as it would have been with little Mokuba.”

“Leave Mokuba out of this.”

“He does speak,” Zigfried said. Knuckles stroked down Kaiba’s cheek before pulling away. “I’m sure you want to know where little Mokuba is, don’t you?” The locket was tugged from the back, slipping up and slapping back onto Kaiba’s chest. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t have him.”

Kaiba finally moved, head turning to to follow Zigfried to his opposite shoulder. A hand rested on his shoulder, patting it.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have said that, should I? Such a thing to hold over your head right now. But I have something just as good, I think. You won’t be worried about him and can think clearly for our game,” Zigfried leaned in close, pressing his hands down on Kaiba’s shoulders, the gun laying over his right shoulder.

Joey could see the small way Kaiba leaned, relieving pain, pushing away from his right side, from the jagged bullet wound, his black shirt stiffened from blood, renewed as it still tried to bleed.

“You and Mr. Wheeler are going to playing a little truth or dare. Doesn’t that sound delightful?” Zigfried smiled, first at Kaiba, and then to Joey. A wide, maniacal, sociopathic kind of grin that made Joey’s skin crawl.

“So let’s hear the rules. Once one of you selects an option, the other will be forced to do the opposite, is that clear? Good, now, when it comes to truth, a question will be poised, and it must be answered. If you refused to respond, the other be given a punishment. And when you do respond, I hope that it’s honest. I’d hate to punish you both for that one... It would be a shame to lie to each other. Now, for the dare section—“

“So it doesn’t fuckin’ matter if we lie, got it,” Joey said. The gun pressed a little further into his scalp.

“Oh, I didn’t say that. You’ll see. Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, the dare section. For that, we’re going to play a little bit of Russian roulette. I’m sure you’re both familiar with the game. You’ve already picked your numbers, after all. What were they?” Zigfried asked the masked man.

“Mr. Wheeler selected three and two. Mr. Kaiba refused to respond, and two and four were selected for him.”

“Wonderful. On the chance that our dare section takes more than four rounds, how about we each select another two more numbers? Eight rounds seems sufficient.”

Kaiba let out a weak, breathy laugh. “You mean to kill us.”

“It took you so long to catch on?” Zigfried said, a hand to his chest. “My you must be so exhausted right now. I hadn’t wanted them to shoot you, really, but you put up so much of a fight.”

“If you want to kill us, then just do it,” Kaiba challenged.

Joey balked. “Seto, what the hell are you goin’ on about?”

“That wouldn’t do it justice, old friend, really. To just have it happen like that,”  
Zigfried said with a snap of his fingers. “So let’s get to picking numbers, shall we? Joey, you first. Let’s be generous, one or two, hm?”

“One.”

“Ah, how boring and predictable. And you?” Zigfried asked, swinging in close to Kaiba’s cheek. “One or two?”

“No.”

“No?” Zigfried clicked his tongue. “No fun you mean. Why don’t you take a second to think about it?”

“I’m not playing games with you, Schroeder.”

“That’s a shame, you’ve made your life out of games. This ending suits you perfectly, either way. So, why not pick a number?” A heavy hand laid on Kaiba’s shoulder. A haggard breath escaped.

Joey bristled. “Jus’ answer ‘em. Say one, okay?”

“No,” Kaiba replied. “I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

“He’s gonna be fuckin’ doin’ it no matter what,” Joey said. “This way we get more outs, a’right?”

“‘Outs’. That’s a cute way to put it,” Zigfried said. “You really should listen to him, old friend. He’s got something there.”

Joey suspected that, if Schroeder was throwing a numbers game at Kaiba, then all of the probabilities were being calculated. He expected no less of a tactician. He just had to keep his lover thinking, aware and awake, before exhaustion stripped him down to a bare creature, unthinking and unmoving.

“One in six ain’t terrible odds,” Joey said. “That’s what, like, less than twenty percent?”

“Sixteen point six seven, or so,” Zigfried said. “Going once, going twice...”

Kaiba’s lips were sealed, and he stared across at Joey with a glint in his eyes, mustering a weak fire beneath the grimace. Joey couldn’t tell if he was being glared at, or if Kaiba was trying to tell him that he already knew the answer. Either way, it still felt wrong to speak.

“Fine, I’ll be nice. One for both of you,” Zigfried said. “Let’s go again, now. Three, four, or five, oh my!”

“Three,” Joey answered before the question was finished.

The chamber of the pistol was opened up. “Ah, no fun. I thought he was more of a gambler, what with all those luck cards in his deck. Oh well, and you Seto?”

“No.”

“I may not be so nice this time.”

Kaiba’s face remained impassive, even as the chamber of the pistol was spun and flicked closed. If he was scared, he wasn’t showing it. Did Kaiba even know fear? Fear for Mokuba, who was no longer in trouble. Fear for him? Joey hoped, but insofar couldn’t tell. He had been a little more vocally upset that Joey placed himself in harm’s way, and that was worth its weight in gold.

“Going once, going twice...”

“Jus’ pick a number,” Joey begged. “Do it for me, a’right?”

“He’a so cute, Seto. It’s a shame he was pulled into this,” Zigfried said. Kaiba’s back straightened against Zigfried’s lingering touch, but he said nothing. “Five is your last number. That should spice things up. Alright, let’s get started. Mr. Wheeler, truth or dare?”

It wasn’t as if the reality of the situation wasn’t upon Joey the entire time. His body was drained, brain aching, from the thought of his lover being a pile of lifeless limbs on the floor. Knowing he was alive brought out exuberance, but also renewed terror. The mock execution meant to straighten them into place, and Joey was ready to fall rank and file if it meant getting out of there. If this was a game—truth or dare was a game, he reasoned—then there was a way to win. Kaiba, ever the pragmatic, probably saw it different. Joey just couldn’t say how. His eyes weren’t deadened, but they were dim and tired. They would flick back and forth, thinking, churning, calculating. There was something back there, between the pained flinches and the too-slow blinks of trying to hold onto consciousness. His face was so pale.

Truth meant the gun was at Kaiba’s head. Dare meant Joey took it instead, but Kaiba would have to answer a question. Would he talk? Would he risk the chances of whatever the ‘punishment’ was?

“Dare,” Joey said. It was like poison on his lips. But maybe, he thought as his guts clenched, as his legs shook, maybe Kaiba would see there was a chance. If it went the right way.

“Three bullets, then,” Zigfried said. He and the masked man switched sides, and the chamber of the pistol was opened, three bullets knocked out of it before it was flicked shut again. Spun. Barrel at the back of his head.

Joey’s teeth ground against one another, and he closed his eyes only to open them again. If the last thing he was going to see was Kaiba’s face, that was okay. Because those blue eyes were widening, watching, staring.

If Kaiba begged, it would have been an insult to all of the pride between them. But, briefly, he wondered if Kaiba would stoop so low for him. How far did his affection stretch?

No time.

The pistol jammed into the back of his head.

Click.

Blunt, fierce. The nozzle knocked against the back of his head. His scalp was on fire, stinging and bruised, but his head hung forward when he realised all of his senses were still in tact. That he could still see the marred toes of his shoes.

A whimper snuck out of his throat. Tears flecked in his eyes. A tightness buzzed behind his ears, but there was no pain. There was nothing, really. Well, except for the relief of tension in his stomach and the sudden, strong smell of piss.

“Heh.” Joey’s head sunk down, chin touching his chest, but his eyes stayed up, finding the warping outline of Kaiba’s figure lunging forward, violently seizing to stand. Meaty hands settled on his shoulders, held back by fistfuls of shirt yanked up into his throat. The chair sputtered backwards. His body writhed as he was thrown back into the seat.

“Ngh...I’m okay...”Joey said.

Kaiba’s breaths were threaded and coarse from the struggle. His shoulders bucked back to fight the hands. Zigfried chuckled. “Now, we get to the truth portion. Old friend, tell me, what are your plans for the near future?”

“Near future?” Kaiba scoffed. “You don’t want us to make it out of this room.”

“Mm, but think of what Mr. Wheeler said. Outs,” said Zigfried. Kaiba could almost hear the wink. “Indulge me.”

Joey was zoning out, head still heavy, ears still ringing. Kaiba’s gravelled voice was the only thing keeping him front and center.

“You’ll be dead; that’s what’s in the near future.”

“Mm, by your hand? I’d like to see that,” Zigfried cackled. “Not what I was going for though. And possibly a lie, don’t you think? I made it in here; managed this. You suppose you can really touch me?”

Kaiba sneered. “I can, and I will.”

“You think that, but look at yourself! Such a pitiful thing you are,” Zigfried said. He sighed. “You also haven’t answered the question. Let me rephrase: what plans did you have for you and Mr. Wheeler in the near future?” Kaiba gave a pensive look, eyes skittered back and forth still thinking. A momentary glance at Joey, lips thinning.

“Not feeling talkative now? We can talk about anything but him?” Zigfried asked, and his head nodded towards Joey. “I see that Mr. Wheeler has, what, dislocated his thumb? It’s so asymmetrical, perhaps we should remedy that...” Joey felt his arm grabbed tight, shoulder yanked back against the chair. His breath hitches, heartbeat picking up he tried to writhe his arm away. He wouldn’t beg his lover to intervene, not for a thumb. “Better yet, he’s got quite a grip on Mr. Wheeler’s shoulder. Go for that instead, I hear it’s quite an experience.”

For a moment, the gun was holstered away as Joey was manhandled, his left shoulder bent backwards while the joint was pushed down against the chair. A small, involuntary whimper came out as the muscle strained and bone pulled out and around, searing and grinding while his fingers prickled with numbness. No begging, no begging....

“Travel!” Kaiba said, betraying his calm. The tension in Joey’s shoulder released. His body sagged forward before being pulled upright again. “I had a chopper waiting outside to take us to an island. Just us.”

Still reeling from the pain, Joey wasn’t positive if he heard Kaiba right. Truth? He wasn’t so sure, but Kaiba’s voice was curt and convincing. A surprise, or meant to be, after this tournament? Joey had been begging for a vacation—he just never thought someone like Kaiba would submit to that whim.

“Ah, so that’s what I landed by,” Zigfried confirmed. “That poor man was just waiting for you?...oh well. Warm sand, cool waters? I can’t even imagine you sunbathing. But Mr. Wheeler’s seen more of your body. I’m sure he can paint a much better picture,” Zigfried laughed. “Truth or dare, old friend?”

Moving on. And Joey saw Kaiba’s eyes close for a moment, considering the question. Would he answer this time? The numbers were one matter, but he couldn’t uphold his silence. Joey’s aching shoulder proved that. He had to reply to this; they had to do something to keep this game moving if they wanted to make it to the end. Whatever that end was.

This had become desperate. Hearing the gun click, watching Joey shudder, and hearing him cry while his body flushed its system, Kaiba had never felt so grim, so weak. So manipulated. It was a matter of cause and effect, watching each other’s faces as they contorted with fear, biting lips and daring themselves to wonder if the next moment was going to be the last.

He didn’t want to see Joey go through it again, though it was bound to happen. They were going to keep passing it off to one another. Sacrificing themselves until something eventually happened. A game that could be endless, and all the rules could be bent to Schroeder’s whim. Even as he struggled to form a complete thought, Kaiba knew he would have been a fool to think otherwise.

“Y’can say ‘truth’ if ya want, Seto,” Joey said, breaking his pensiveness.

Kaiba’s eyelids drooped. “Joey...”

“I can take it. Next one is...two, yeah? Better odds than before, ain’t it? Then one after....”

Kaiba shook his head. “Stop it.”

“I’m jus’ sayin’ I...I got better chances an’...an’ I wanna hear ya keep talkin’,” Joey said.

Kaiba bared his teeth as his lips, thinned and chapped, pulled back to reveal them. A wild animal emerging from beneath the skin. “You will not be sacrificing yourself.”

“I’m gonna do what I want. Ya can’t stop me.”

“I can, and I will,” Kaiba said. “Dare. Now!”

“No!” Joey shook his head. “No, don’t do it.”

Zigfried clicked his tongue. “You two are endlessly entertaining. Unfortunately my rules are iron clad. Dare it is, old friend. Two bullets for now. Ah. I could have set this up for either of you the same.”

The pair went through a quick switch, with the masked man now behind Joey. The chamber was opened, another shell pulled out from before. It was spun, clicking, sliding, snapping into place. Pressed to the back of Kaiba’s head.

Joey’s breathing stopped and his eyes widened. He’d seen this before, he didn’t need a replay, but...he didn’t want to look away. The nausea was overwhelming at best. Clamping down on his tongue, forcing the bile back and down, he shook his head. “I’m jus’ tryin’ to help, I really am.”

“And you’re only hurting yourself worse,” Kaiba replied. The hammer pulled back, and the trigger was pulled without hesitation.

Click.

Kaiba’s head flung forward to the hollow echo the empty chamber cycling, enough recoil to press into the back of his head.

No blood splattered; no blankness like he’d felt before, but Kaiba’s chin hit his chest for the second time. It seemed as though something small and sharp was digging into his temple, twisting and boring deeper. The room was tilting. His eyelashes were so blurry, they blocked out the rest of the room if he didn’t force himself to focus. A small, weak laugh seemed to come from anywhere but his own body, even as he felt his chest heaved.

“I’ve made him mad already?” Zigfried asked, and he gripped a handful of hair to pull Kaiba’s head up. As if shocked, Zigfried tore his hand away, inspecting where it had become streaked with blood in the palm.

“You’ve struck him in the head?” Zigfried asked, his open hand displayed. Joey, at first, was confused by the question, and soon realised that it was the meaty hands that were being asked.

“You asked him to be subdued,” the masked man replied.

“As if shooting him wouldn’t be enough?”

As Zigfried and the man argued, slipping into a foreign tongue, Kaiba passed glances to his lover, trying to communicate through motions of his eyes, his brows. Asking Joey to consider that, for at least one moment, that these two weren’t on the same page. A gentle shake of the head from Joey. In response, Kaiba’s eyes tightened closed to try and subdue the headache, and he heaved out a deep breath as they opened them again. They darted to his hands, beckoning Joey’s attention there, fingers making circles before motioning between the pair.

They had to cycle if Kaiba and Joey switched on and off on the dare.

Another shake of the head from Joey. No? How? his eyes asked. How would they manage anything, even in such light restraint?

Kaiba’s fingers knit together, tight, and shook firmly there. They would do it together, and that was that. More was about to be added, more plan needed to be made, but Zigfried began to speak again.

“Mr. Wheeler,” he said, stern and loud to grab their attention. “You have truth, then. What is Seto’s worst quality?”

“Worst...?”

“Yes. Worst,” the pink haired man confirmed. Zigfried’s eyes widened, just like his smile, his hand massaging Kaiba’s shoulder.

“He’s fuckin’ stubborn,” Joey said. Kaiba’s lips pulled into a smirk. “An’ he can’t have a half decent conversation worth a damn.”

“Mm, I’m noticing that,” said Zigfried. “I would have thought that it was his selfishness. But I’m not the one dating him. Stubborn, old friend. Explicitly stubborn, even better. I’m sure that makes you feel so good about yourself. He came to that answer quickly.”

Kaiba’s lips pinched. He wasn’t being asked a question, so he wasn’t about to deign Zigfried with a response. They weren’t qualities that Joey hadn’t thrown in his face once every week or so. Their hostility was out in the open for everyone to see, just as much as their tenderness was, though people paid a little less attention to that.

“Mr. Wheeler. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Joey replied. They had to do this. They had to keep switching them to this. They had to keep...chancing it. Kaiba was right, that was the only way they would have an opening.

“Mm...the gun remains the same. You two are going easy on me.”

Kaiba’s eyes flicked up to Zigfried, delighting himself in the thought of stealing the gun from him. He didn’t entertain such malicious thoughts so regularly, but with everything at play, he couldn’t stop himself. It brought him no relief to know the depths that he’d resort to, but those were the stakes at play. No one would blame him—he didn’t care if they did.

The chamber was spun, as if Zigfried was making it fair on them. Snap. Hammer drawn back. Barrel in the mess of blond hair and hiding. Joey stiffened, forcing his attention forward, on Seto’s absent expression, his mind washing the blood away so he could see the details. The curve of his cheeks and the slope of his nose. A twitch of his lips. Every detail had been memorised, but he still looked them over as if they were about to fade away. Joey found his hands clenching together, his good thumb pressing into the dislocated joint, focusing any attention that was on his lover towards the pain instead. Anything but the gun. The chance. The agonising anticipation....

Click.

Joey’s body let go of his breath, heaving a shaken sigh of relief, feeling the recoil spring through him. His body loosened in the chair, sliding down before being caught and dragged up again.

Another round, passed.

“What exactly do you see in Mr. Wheeler?” Zigfried asked. Kaiba pressed his lips tight together. The question was open to so much interpretation. “That was the truth portion, in case you’re getting too tired.”

Tired? He’d flown by tired and hit exhausted as soon as they finished their exhibition duel. All that was keeping him going was caffeine and the adrenaline still rushing through him, perking up just when he was about to pass out again. The brief lapse in consciousness earlier may not have done him any favors, but the brief reprieve, if it could so be called, gave him whatever fumes were keeping his body upright, though his mind wasn’t alert as he would have wanted.

“What do I see in him? What kind of soul-searching answer are you expecting, Schroeder?” Kaiba scoffed. A simmer of anger backed up his adrenaline. “He’s a solid companion.”

All of ways that Joey imagined Kaiba answering that question—a bounty of scathing insults like ‘disorganised, sloppy, air-headed, childish’, countered with the statement of “all things I would never change” as Kaiba had admitted only once, in the air shared only between the sheets; or, if he was feeling curt, the quiet sentimental words he’d shared before like ‘energetic, optimistic, good for a laugh, hopelessly romantic, wonderfully predictable’ when he’d complimented Joey in his haphazard, backwards sort of way—washed into his mind. And they were promptly tossed aside. Leave it to Kaiba to subvert his expectations so expertly.

A solid companion?

Joey’s lips rounded to ask why, but pinched back down when he accepted that he already knew, but answer was so bare that it left him blank. Of emotion; of mind. Joey thought he liked it, maybe. It was a sterile, almost rigid, compliment that was unlike anything that the press had been told. Honest. Naked.

“An interesting choice of words, Seto. Is that it? Just...a solid companion?”

“Does...does answer not fit your criteria this t-time?”

Kaiba’s voice wavered. A fresh wave of pain swathed through him, head to toe, and he shivered, even though he was sure he could have peeled steam from beneath his collar. Logic told him that the tiny, boxed-in room wasn’t getting any cooler, but a chill spiked up his back and tickled at his ribs.

Zigfried shrugged. “It does. Goodness, are you alright, old friend? I didn’t think you could lose anymore color.”

“I’m perfectly f-fine.”

They didn’t have much time. Whatever plan they forming, playing with the stance switches of Zigfried and his henchman, were going to take too long to formulate together. His body wasn’t going to hold up much longer—it was already confused and desperately telling him that he needed help—and he wasn’t about to hand Zigfried a win with no effort.

Pulling up, he felt the gun press into the back of his head. Knowing that it was trained there was key. And across, he saw Zigfried in the same position with Joey. Lined up, symmetrical, just like they had been the entire time, so that neither Joey or Kaiba could get any ideas. Not with with their lover at stake. But the defense was about to throttled by its very nature.

“Truth or dare?” Zigfried asked.

“Dare,” Kaiba replied.

“Four shots this time,” Zigfried announced. The pair began to change places, walking around the chairs. This distance was so short, they were always in arm’s length. “This is where I tell you how beneficial it would have been for you to pick for yourself.”

The chamber was snapped out as the bullets were added. Spun.

Barrel to the back of his head.

The hammer pulled back.

One last burst of adrenaline would make it, firing through Kaiba’s body as he slumped down in the chair, slamming it back into Zigfried’s mid-section. At the same time, his bound hands flung upwards, striking under Zigfried’s wrist and forcing the gun’s aim higher than either his or Joey’s head as it fired.

The crack of the live round was deafening.

The masked man behind Joey fell backwards with a gurgled shriek. The gun clattered onto the floor, skidding away, while the masked man preferred to clutch his neck as it quickly drained of blood.

Kaiba hands gripped the heated barrel of the pistol while he thrust his unsteady body weight into Zigfried, his legs barely cooperating with him as he stumbled while he stood. It was enough to illicit a guttural string of foreign expletives and make Zigfried let go of the weapon. The headache almost double Kaiba over as he looked both way for his opponent. His feet shuffled, unsteady beneath him. He staggered forward, swinging towards what he thought was Zigfried. Instead, he fell into open air, unable to catch himself and landed haphazard onto his side.

All of the air escaped his lungs, momentarily blinded by the pain that flared around what had only been a dull but throbbing wound. As if he needed reminded that he was falling apart at the seams. His breathing became shallow.

Turning over, Kaiba found that Zigfried had made it over to the other gun, scooping it up before reaching Joey. The blond had been taken down with the masked man, the chair kicked aside, and somehow Joey landed underneath the mess of writhing muscle. He was fighting to push the masked man off of him while also reaching for the gun.

The masked man’s writhing stopped once the blood seemed to stop pooling, allowing for Joey to crawl out from underneath in time for Zigfried to slammed the butt of the gun against Joey’s temple, staggering his rise. He grabbed Joey around the neck, shoving his forearm high into Joey’s throat, jutting Joey’s chin upwards while the gun was dug into his temple. Joey’s sneakers twisted, scrapping against the cement floor while he bucked around, trying to shove Zigfried into the wall even as his feet turned inward, still pigeon toed. A single blood drop trailed down his cheek.

Kaiba poised the pistol at the pair, trying to find the right image that wavered between the two or three blurs. Joey was forced to his knees. Zigfried kicking him in the back of the knee and calf, unrelenting, until he submitted. Joey’s hands squeezed and nails pushed at the soft fabric of Zigfried’s too refined jacket, but made little headway. His head was poised up just high enough that he couldn’t bite—he could barely breath.

“Did you not like that game, Seto?” Zigfried asked.

Kaiba blinked until he could find a solid image, eyes focused on Joey’s face. He eased up onto his knees, levelling himself with them as he pointed the pistol at the space just above Joey’s head.

“We can always play another. I like this one, too! I get to play,” Zigfried said. “I wondered how long it would take to get here.”

“W-what are you on about?”

Zigfried smiled. “How long would that have honestly gone on? I practically had you two free. One of you was going to fight me, eventually. I had hoped it was you; it just took enough motivation. How long before you would break?”

“I...I didn’t break.”

“You have a gun pointed at me, old friend.”

“Y-you have a gun at his head!” Kaiba shouted. “I’m not the broken one. Y-you’re pathetic.”

Zigfried chuckled. “If you say so. But I know what you’re thinking right now. How can you end me and still save him? Hm?” Kaiba was silent, looking over the openings that he could find, but Zigfried had placed himself almost perfectly behind Joey, who, despite his thin figure, was still enough to make good cover.

“You could have killed me at...at any time,” Kaiba said. “That’s what you want. I-I’ve known you far too long.”

“But where is the fun in that?” Kaiba shuddered. His fingers were going numb. As long as he could see that his finger was on the trigger. “Hm? Oh, come now, Seto. Mr. Wheeler said he wants to hear you talk, didn’t you? Talk to him, not me. Tell him you’re sorry that it has to end like this.”

“It’s only ending for you.”

“Oh, I know that,” Zigfried admitted. “In fact, I know exactly how this going to go. And so do you.”

Zigfried would shoot Joey.

Kaiba would shoot Zigfried.

And then...? Kaiba’s state of mind wasn’t strong enough to know what might happen next, because he still had Mokuba to think about. What could have happened in a moment? When he was stripped down to a broken, carnal mass of pure instinct and illogic?

“So talk to Mr. Wheeler. I’ll give you both a moment to say goodbye.”

The arm loosened enough that Joey could suck in a short but greedy breath. “Don’t...don’t listen to ‘im. This ain’t the end, Seto. Don’t worry.”

Joey was just as scared. His eyes were wet with tears. His lips trembled. But he was holding his own, just as he said he could. And he was still telling Kaiba not to worry.

“No, no it won’t. H-he thinks he has me backed into a corner, but he doesn’t,” Kaiba said. Though he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Joey or through him.

“I wonder how it would be if this were little Mokuba? Would this be just as easy to you? Would you be so confident?” Zigfried said.

“Ya said you’d let us talk!” Joey snarled back, bucking around. Zigfried shifted, the gun still poised. “So shut up.”

The arm was tightened back into Joey’s throat. “I didn’t want Mr. Wheeler, I’m sure you gathered. I feel like you’re lacking some passion.”

“Don’t you dare...!”

“Would you fight harder if it was Mokuba?”

Kaiba bit his tongue. His mind was slipping too much to consider what he might say. If it was Mokuba standing there instead of Joey. “Y-you’re doing this to hurt me,” Kaiba said. “It wouldn’t matter if y-you used either...you...you knew that.”

“Did I? Mr. Wheeler came here all on his own,” Zigfried said.

More thrashing from Joey, who was trying hard to pull forward in spite of the threat at his head. Zigfried yanked back.

They blurred again, and Kaiba tried hard to blink the multiples away. Joey was moving them around enough that there would be an opening soon enough. If he could just wait. If his body, cycling through pain and chill, would keep up that long.

“You would have found a way to bring him...,” Kaiba said. “Y-you wanted vengeance one way or another.”

“Is that so? Is that what this is? Vengeance?”

“If y-you wanted to kill me, you have just done it.” Kaiba said. “This it to make me suffer first.”

“How selfish!” Zigfried explained. “Not everything is about you, Seto.”

Kaiba’s nose curled. “What is it about then? You didn’t come here to...to....ngh....”

His arms lowered for half a second as his leg prepared to give out from beneath him, slipping to the side as his side cried out, asking him for leniency. Not yet. Soon, he could rest, but not yet.

“I really wished he hadn’t hurt you so badly,” Zigfried said. “You would be so much sharper. This would be more much pure that way.”

“You will still...not walk out of here...”

“I know. But neither will you. Or Mr. Wheeler. Does that make you happy? That you’ll die with your...what was it? ‘Solid companion?’”

“You want this,” Kaiba said as it dawned on him. This wasn’t vengeance, just something far simpler than that. “You want to kill me...you...you...want to kill yourself....”

“Mm, maybe,” Zigfried said. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? We’ve always been locked in battle. I think this an appropriate way for us to end each other, don’t you think? On even ground like this.”

“Then....you can let Joey go. He’s not...not necessary.”

“Oh, but he is. You’re so hard to unnerve. You needed the incentive,” the gun shifted as Zigfried moved about on his knees to reclaim his stance. Joey continued to buck, letting his hands fall down and his elbow fling around to hit Zigfried in the side. “It’s just a shame he’ll be collateral damage.”

Kaiba’s jaw hurt from gritting his teeth. His hands shook, and his fingers wiggled to try and reclaim feeling in the tips. His finger slid down the trigger.

“You know something else, old friend? You have three shots in that gun. Do you know which ones they are? Do you know which one will strike?” Zigfried smiled. “Will you take that risk with his life? If your shot is wasted, you can be assured that mine won’t be.”

Three shots. Zigfried was right. He had loaded the gun with two more bullets for the game. One round had been spent, even if it had hit a target. He had a fifty-fifty shot at hitting Zigfried. If he could find a shot at all.

“Though it will all be the same in the end,” Zigfried added.

“You’re delusional! As always.”

Zigfried chuckled. “Ahh! The passion! That’s more like it, Seto. That’s what I want to hear. Calm doesn’t suit you well. You’re so much more expressive when you’re angry. Your eyes,” Zigfried leaned into Joey’s ear. “Aren’t his eyes so captivating? Is that what you like about him? Those intense, passionate eyes?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Joey struggled. “An’ they’re only for me, ya know?”

“Are they?” Zigfried asked. “Are they looking at you or me? Hm? Does he even care that you’re here? He said you weren’t necessary.”

Joey bucked around more, trying to force himself back against the wall and squash Zigfried away. But he was looking at Kaiba and wondering where his eyes were. They were forward, focused, but a little glazed. His cheeks twitched in pain, his knees slid on the concrete as he leaned, still trying to fight the pain in his side.

They glowed as the lights flickered on again. Zigfried’s attention broke, his mouth pulling away from Joey’s ear, neck stretched towards the door.

Another hard jolt backwards from Joey, all of his strength thrown into it.

Kaiba’s finger squeezed the trigger.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He didn’t want to take the risk, though he felt deafened as soon as he fired the the first shot. Still, the next shot was made as fast as he could thumb down the hammer. There was only the space between him and Zigfried, so small, so close. He could miss. He was so intense, so focused for those few moments, that he hardly noticed as the room chilled with the whir of an air conditioner. His body was so cold as it was. His lips felt like they were about to freeze together as he licked them.

Dropping his arms heavy at his sides, Kaiba’s body almost fell forward. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. His vision was growing dark, frayed at the edges. No Zigfried was a good thing. No Joey? Had he been hit? Had Zigfried taken him? Shot him?

Bracing his hands against the floor, Kaiba tried picking himself up, tried sliding his knees out from underneath himself to stand and get a better view, but couldn’t force it to happen.

The door opened, and he fell backwards, away from the noise, searching for the movement as it slid by him and knelt down beside him.

Something warm crossed his back and nudged into his shoulder. As he looked down, a pair of hands were holding onto his wrists, a knife slicing through the zip tie and releasing his wrists, rubbed red and raw from his own fighting.

Those same hands slid beneath his shoulders and encouraged him upwards. His body was drawn to the warmth that he knew he didn’t needed but desperately wanted.

As Kaiba blinked and pulled his head up, he realised that he was walking, stumbling, being led up a set of stairs and through a separate room. Something was pressed into his hands, rectangular and light. His phone, screen cracked somewhere in all the scuffle.

Out another door, where he almost fell forward but was caught. His arm was pulled up and over wide and rounded shoulders. His entire side was engulfed in the warmth. His legs were being pulled faster than his feet could keep up with.

His heels dug into the ground, trying to stop and trying to fight this pull. He shaken, hard. “Mm?”

“Seto, c’mon, stay with me, huh? Keep going forward.”

Rolling his head towards the voice, recognisable but faint, Kaiba nodded and kept stumbling forward, pushing away from whatever was pulling him. He figured he had succeeded when the warmth left his side. He scanned the floor. Such a blank and empty space the he recalled was somewhere in the arena. They were in the arena. The power was back on, that much he could process. His hands braced against the wall, palm flat against the rough brick and slick paint until he felt it settle on a metal panel. The elevator! It must have been working now. The butt of his palm jammed into the button. His heels wheeled backwards.

Something caught him.

“I got ya, okay?”

“You have Joseph...” Kaiba muttered. He didn’t want to look back to the warmth that was keeping him upright. He didn’t want to see Zigfried’s face. “You killed him.”

“Seto, I’m not Schroeder. An’ I ain’t dead...I’m right here.”

The doors of the elevator slid open. Kaiba stepped in, holding onto the edge of the door as he did. Footsteps were behind him, and he stuttered ahead to try and keep his distance from the figure, even if he wanted the warmth.

“You won’t get Mokuba,” Kaiba declared.

His shoulder leaned against the elevator’s wall, eyes focused on the diamond steel pattern on the floor. Another pair of shoes came into his vision, and he kicked off the wall, hands pushing at the figure beside him. It stopped him, held him close and tight. Hugging around his torso, even as his side pleaded for the pressure to stop.

Why didn’t he keep the pistol?

“Mokuba’s okay,” the voice said.

“No...no...you’ve taken Joseph. You’re going to take Mokuba. I can’t let you. I have to...”

“Stop talkin’. You’re wastin’ your energy.”

Kaiba’s eyes blurred, though his head leaned back, watching the numbers as they ticked downwards. The doors slid open, and he writhed around in the grip which let him go, let him stumble across the threshold onto the main floor, through the auxiliary hall, towards the doors as bright light flooded through them.

One last push, one last rush towards the doors as they slid open. He almost ran, though he stumbled along, under the empty arena seating and out to the desolate landscape, now flashing with the advertisements reels that had reawaken to a mess of disorganised pixels.

The sun wasn’t out. Dark and heavy clouds had moved in, shading the arena but doing little to dispel the heat from it. His eyes slid across the open landscape and searched for anyone who could see what was going on; any security who could aid him. Who could stop Zigfried from getting to Mokuba. Someone...he could tell about Roland.

About Joey. 

Crawling up onto the arena platform, Kaiba continued to force himself to walk across, to aim for something or someone. Any other time and exit would have been easy, but he saw the barricades. Recognised his own protocols in place.

Fat water droplets began to strike the crown of his head. The heavy smell of wetting soil and stainless steel flooded into his senses. His feet slowed. One step. One more. One more. Keep walking...just keep walking...

The hands touched his shoulders again, and Kaiba whipped around, his arm raised ready to strike. A blob of gold, dots of honey. Recognition bolted across his face. He fell forward, into Joey’s welcomed grip that craddled and lowered him down onto the ground as the rain picked up. The chill on his skin, in his joints, was slowly fading away.

“Lay down ‘fore ya hurt yourself worse,” Joey commanded.

Kaiba’s body was sat down, slow and steady, while Joey gripped tight to his waist to make sure he didn’t collapse in on himself.

“It’s raining again,” Kaiba said once he sat. Joey looked down, and he could see where the rainwater was mixing and diluting with blood that stained their skin and hair. It pooled into the cracks of the arena floor. Kaiba held his palms out to wash them.

“Yeah. Summer rain’s unpredictable,” Joey replied.

“Why does it always rain at these events?” Kaiba asked.

Kaiba leaned back against Joey’s shoulder. His bangs began to slough back and away from his forehead as the dried blood was rinsed away. The rain was so cool and inviting.

“Dunno. Jus’ how it happens.”

“Three times in a row now,” Kaiba said. A miserable laugh escaped him. His hands settled in his lap. “Look at Wheeler. Standing out in the rain like a fool.”

Joey shifted to try and make Kaiba more comfortable, but his brows furrowed, unsure of what Kaiba was talking about. Or to, for that matter. He looked around, seeing that there were people approaching the pair from a distance, but nowhere near close enough for Kaiba to see. Not in his condition.

“Seto...?”

“You think he even has an umbrella?”

Joey found himself thinking back to the dream he’d had just hours before. Of the cold rain sliding down his neck and his arms while he clutched them close, fighting the chill. “When do I ever? That means, ya know, bein’ prepared. I was late. Remember? Ya almost didn’t let me duel.”

Kaiba was silent a moment, a haggard breath shuddering out. One of his hands gripped tight over the aching wound, and Joey shifted so he didn’t brush against it.

“Give him mine,” Kaiba said, voice slurring.

“Why yours? Why’d you give me your umbrella?” It was definitely that dream. That moment. That simple gesture that Kaiba made to him, showing off his humility while trying to pretend he didn’t care. Joey couldn’t imagine any other conversation happening, other than that day. The start.

That’s what he told Kaiba he thought it was. Joey always wanted to know why that happened. Why Kaiba had picked that very moment to display his restrained, arrogant kindness. He’d asked plenty of times, but never received a clear response. It was just a thing that had happened, or so Kaiba made it.

“Because then maybe he will talk to me.”

“I woulda talked to ya no matter what, Seto. Ya...ya just had to start a conversation first. Why didn’t ya just start a conversation, huh? Was that really that hard?”

“Just give it to him, Roland. Stop...stop asking so many questions.”

The rain worsened, and Joey pulled his lover in close, hoping to shield him in place of an umbrella. He thought back to what he said as Kaiba had pawned it off like he was concerned for the duel disk.

“So generous. Don’t go catchin’ a cold on my account.”

Kaiba’s breathing worsened to sharp, shallow intakes, flecked with a moan somewhere in the back. “I—I won’t,” Kaiba replied. His eyes opened and looked up into Joey’s. A weak smile appeared. “You had better not, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Zigfried? Hm...I wonder.


	5. Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chap!

The limit on how close Mokuba could get towards the arena were tested as he pushed along the police barrier. Bodyguards gave him hushed warnings to stay back, but they weren't in the mind of fully stopping their boss, only giving him the best advice.

Each time Mokuba advanced, so did Yugi, keeping a respectable distance once the boy refused to be held, but was close enough when Mokuba would eventually back-peddle into him, searching for something tangible to smear his snotty nose. After three hours, hingeing on the fourth, Mokuba was all out of tears, his face dry and his chest full of silent hiccups.

They talked about nothing, but just enough so that Yugi could keep Mokuba sound and alert. Planted behind the perimeter whenever he seemed like he was about to run. They talked about Duel Monsters, about school, about past tournaments, about how the game shop was being run and how things were going at KaibaCorp. He had, for the most part, stayed away from discussing Kaiba or Joey, since it incited the worst of Mokuba's emotions, but he was drifting. His responses were getting shorter.

"I'm surprised that your brother sponsored Joey," Yugi said, hopping into what he thought may have been a more positive conversation. Mokuba had at least turned his ear towards Yugi's voice. He continued: "I remember mentioning that Joey would be a good addition to his team once and he...wasn't exactly thrilled."

Mokuba shrugged. "You want the real reason, or the excuse?"

Yugi blinked. "I...don't know."

"Schroeder had offered to sponsor Joey," said Mokuba. "Nii-sama says that he sent out his own offer letter to spite the competition. That's what he'll tell everyone, at least."

"So that's the excuse? Then...what's the real reason?" Yugi asked.

Mokuba turned fully to Yugi, head knocked to the side. "He wanted to talk to Joey. Said he didn't have a legitimate reason before that, but as his sponsor? He would have to. Don't get me wrong, he wanted to, he'd been keeping tabs on Joey and everything, but...he just didn't think Joey wouldn't listen to him otherwise."

Yugi smiled at the thought of a nervous Kaiba. "That's...kinda sweet really." Yugi said, which felt like an understatement. It certainly sounded like it started as a Kaiba-centred obsession, plain and simple, and then blossomed to something more complex. Though he couldn't rightly say what it was that was drawing Kaiba to Joey, nor did he understand how their still antagonistic outlook towards one another really worked. He hardly saw them endeared to one another, as far as their public banter was concerned, but he saw them only half the time, just like the rest of the world. The most Yugi could say was that he knew the couple worked like two odd-shaped cogs in a strange mechanism. "I'm glad the relationship worked out."

"Yeah, it did," Mokuba said. He drew quiet for a second. "You know...nii-sama doesn't even call it a ‘relationship'?"

Another blink from Yugi. "No?"

Mokuba shook his head. "Nope, he calls it 'companionship' instead."

Yugi pondered over the word. It sounded like a very Kaiba thing to say, but he also thought that it wasn't something that Kaiba would put into words if there wasn't a reason. There were so many things that their relationship could have been called, tossed aside as a simple descriptor to identify them as a cohesive entity, a friendly one, even if he didn't use the word 'friend' at all. Yet still Kaiba felt the need to justify it, and to Mokuba no less.

"What does Joey think about it?"

"He doesn't know," Mokuba replied.

"How come?"

Mokuba shrugged. "I dunno. But it's not gonna matter here soon. Not with special plans that nii-sama has for today. Or...had. I dunno if they're gonna happen today." A hiccup jabbed through Mokuba, and he clenched his fists tight as he swallowed it.

Yugi drew in close. Mokuba took a step away, his eyes staring at up at morose sky. A roll of thunder rounded off in the distance. The clouds had been rolling in for the past thirty minutes, threatening them with rain, saving them from the worst of the scorching sun. "Don't say that. They're gonna happen still, Mokuba," the boy's face soured. "Why don't you tell me about them?"

"I promised I wouldn't spoil it," Mokuba said, and he went back to the perimeter, leaning against the wooden blockade, nudged away by the security guard. Yugi wouldn't push him anymore.

It wasn't but moments later that a PR assistant came running up to him, telling him that she couldn't hold off the media much longer. The event had gone on too long, she said, and too many people were asking questions, and the theories were getting outrageous. "We need an official statement."

The guard by Mokuba shifted about, a hand settled on the boy's shoulder. "Can we confirm a visual on Mr. Kaiba?" He asked into a radio. Mokuba's turned away from the woman, his hand grasping at the flaps of the guard's coat. Police and security thundered by in an organised stampede, their radios crackling and echoing off one another. Little was understandable, but his own bodyguard's word was enough. It was all motivation that Mokuba needed to slip away from his detail, the PR assistant left hanging. She was about to get her answer.

Shouldering by his bodyguard and dipping underneath the perimeter, Mokuba ran in same direction as the police had, watching them draw their weapons. A trail of guards followed the younger Kaiba, attempting to keep up with short legs fired by adrenaline and conviction. He would be the first to see his brother to safety. And the first to tell him that yes, he had noticed that Kaiba had left.

Mokuba slithered through a smaller corridor, a not-quite shortcut used by employees, breaking away from the wave of bodies that he had been racing against. Whipping around a tight corner, stumbling along the tile walls, and snuck underneath a barricade, crawling down and around, narrowly out of the grasp of the security calling out his name.

Rain drenched him as soon as he stepped out, wheeling him backwards and into the arms of one of the guards. "Please, Master Mokuba, it's not safe," one of them instructed. As they had all day.

But the arena appeared empty. Whatever threat that had been there before must have been pushed out by the different strike teams that had been sweeping every hall, every corridor, and every room whether they had to bash the door down or not. The only thing Mokuba saw in the whole of the arena, distorted with a swath of fresh steam rising from the ground, was a set of figures far out on the stage. They were hunkered down, unmoved.

The steam cleared just enough for Mokuba to see one of the figures fall forward, bracing themselves with both hands while trying to pick themselves up in protest of the other.

And he saw the card-shaped locket swinging, beating against Kaiba's chest.

"Nii-sama!" Mokuba spring-boarded from the bodyguard and rushed out onto the field, clambering up the stairs and almost tripping as he approached the pair. Joey braced around Kaiba as he found his footing, spreading his feet to regain his stance before taking wobbled, but forward steps. His elbow was grabbed, and Joey's arm braced against Kaiba's back to hold him steady.

Mokuba locked onto him from the left side, hugging around his brother and balling his fists and Kaiba's shirt. A silent, pained gasp opened Kaiba's mouth, feeling blood ooze against his side, the wound irritated, but he closed it before Mokuba looked up at him again. A hand landed on Mokuba's head, lame, the fingers curled in the wetted locks.

Kaiba stalled, rocking back on his heels and catching himself. A smattering of blood hit the ground, quickly erased by the rain.

A look was shared between the boy and Joey, with Mokuba wordless but asking Joey what had happened, seeing the singed scrape that adorned the blond's cheek. Joey smiled, weak, and nodded for them to keep moving while Kaiba still had the will.

Mokuba's face paled. "Seto...? Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Seto replied between breaths. Mokuba knew he was lying. "You made it out okay?"

"Y-yeah, of course. I did what you said. You kept me safe, nii-sama..." Mokuba nodded, uncoiling his hands from Kaiba's shirt when his brother started walking forward again. Mokuba was able to walk by him weary but relieved.

"I'm glad. Let's go home."

The sea of faceless uniforms arrived. They asked as many questions as they could in such a short amount of time, demanding details. Security formed a tight circle, on Mokuba's demand, giving Kaiba breathing room. The demands were still made, and Joey pointed towards the area that he and Kaiba had escaped from. Off the police went in search of the culprit, whom Joey hadn't had the chance to mention.

Because Kaiba collapsed beneath him, body falling out of his grip like a ton of bricks.

"Seto!" Was simultaneously shouted by Joey and Mokuba. Kaiba heard them last as his consciousness flickered away

Mokuba was safe. Joey was safe. He could stop.

—

_The room was so dull. Suffocatingly humid. The details were fuzzy, mostly splotches of red and grey and silver. There was a door, and a window. They were still trapped, Joey concluded. This had never ended. It was still going on and on and..._

_He was helpless to watch as Kaiba reacted to Zigfried as he entered. He had stood, wobbling on his feet to try and approach. The gun was poised in his face. Joey shook his head, watched as Kaiba took a step back._

_No words. No fighting. The crack of the pistol._

_Blood splattered over the window._

_Kaiba fell._

_Zigfried laughed, the pistol at his own head._

_Joey cried._

—

Joey eyes snapped open to darkness. His heart pounded, and he jolted upright, panting, searching the details of the room. Machines, with different numbers and vitals. A tray of food half-eaten and pushed away. A short, wooden bureau piled with magazines, newspapers, a laptop, and a single basket of flowers that was almost falling off the edge. A window with the curtains drawn, with a short couch beneath it. Mokuba was curled up on the couch, asleep, tucked underneath a thin, pink blanket. A bed, which Joey had passed out on. It had a single, unmoving occupant still tucked in it.

Hospital. They were in a hospital.

Breathe in through the nose, out through his mouth. Joey fingers detached from the knit, mint-colored blanket that he had dug them into. He stood up from the chair, stretching out his stiffness in his back until it popped. The sky outside of the room was navy, not fully dark, but the blinking lights of Domino still glittered. The night was still young. He couldn't have been asleep that long.

"Seto?" Joey asked. There was one light source in the room, coming from the center of the bed. Kaiba's face was illuminated by his phone as he busied himself with something. It accented all the shadows and divots in his cheeks and jaw, set tight, almost furious. It also revealed the dark and tired circles under his eyes. Joey frowned. "Seto?"

"Hm?"

"Go t' sleep."

"I have to finish this up," Kaiba replied.

"Ya said that like...an hour ago."

"Three hours ago," Kaiba corrected.

"Fine. Three hours ago," Joey said, he rubbed the numbed side of his face, regretting it immediately. His fingers had scrapped right through the bandage covering where the bullet had seared into his cheek. He patted the edges back down. "Go t' sleep."

"Joseph," Kaiba sighed. The phone dropped into his lap. The light dimmed.

"What?"

"Go home."

"Nah," Joey said. Once he itched the bandage, he felt the need to itch beneath the edges of the brace on his left hand. The pains in body were all dulled down now, diluted by medication and sleep. "Mokuba's already asleep. Might as well stay another night."

"I'm calling you a car," Kaiba said, head bowed to his phone again. "You need to go home. Shower. You smell."

"Oh boy, love you too. Ya not want me here?" Joey asked.

"I didn't say that."

Joey rounded to the opposite side of the bed, stepping up to the bureau and grabbing the newspaper just beneath the laptop. ' _Protests Lead to Tragedy at KaibaCorp. Tournament_ ' the headline, three days old, read. "But that's what ya meant, right?"

"You haven't left since they discharged you," Kaiba said.

"Lies," Joey replied. "Me an' Mokuba left to grab lunch yesterday."

Another sigh. The phone was pressed to Kaiba's ear, his other hand pushed into the bed to ease himself up where he'd slid down.

"Have someone bring a car to Domino hosp—nh," Kaiba hissed, leaning away from the wound and balancing on his left side. Joey reached around him, his arm sneaking around his lover's waist and helping him sit up, ignoring that the bed could be moved with the touch of a button. It wasn't the same as feeling Kaiba's warmed skin beneath him.

" _Are you there Mr. Kaiba...?"_

The voice was faint on the phone, but audible. The phone was stolen from Kaiba's hand. "We don't need nothin', thanks, bye," Joey said, and he ended the call. The phone was tossed on the bureau.

"Give it back."

"Ya need t' rest," Joey said.

Kaiba shook his head. "Give me back the phone," he said, reaching towards the bureau. Joey blocked his way.

"Ya haven't slept in, like, days. Jus' rest."

"I've slept," Kaiba countered.

"Bein' knocked out don't count."

A scoff, and a wince as he reached too far. His arm curled back in and laid over his chest. "I have slept. There are a million things that I have to do after all of this. They aren't going to clean themselves—"

"Heat exhaustion," Joey interjected.

"—up. There is still the matter of—"

"Blood loss."

"—the protestors taking the blame—"

"Concussion."

"—when you and I both it's Schroeder and he's —"

"Infection," Joey said, voice raising, steady.

"—being heralded as some victim instead of people like Roland—"

"Gunshot!"

"Joseph!"

Their voices died away, interrupted by the light shriek of the heart monitored as it registered the sudden spike in Kaiba's heart rate. Joey was braced against the side of the bed, leaned into Kaiba as he pressed his point across, the executive finally turning to look back. Their faces were close enough to taste the other's breath. The heart monitor calmed.

Mokuba had stirred, overturning on the couch and groaning. "Nii-sama...?"

They both looked over, their argument left in wait, and Kaiba moved to shift out of bed. Joey pushed him back and stepped over to the couch. "Everythin's a'right. We're jus' talkin'," Joey said, and he pulled the blanket further up on Mokuba's shoulders.

"Is he still asleep?" Kaiba asked, hushed.

Mokuba had slept about as much as Kaiba had, but wasn't fighting his body as much as Kaiba, having passed out for long before even Joey had thought to take a nap on the edge of the bed. The boy out again, readjusting himself under the covers. His hands pulled up from beneath the blanket to reveal them clutched tight around his locket.

"Yeah. Barely woke up," Joey replied. He returned to Kaiba's side and slumped down in the chair. His hand slipped into his lover's, squeezing. "An' you really should be sleepin', too. Stop bein' so stubborn. They ain't gonna let ya out if ya if you keep up like this."

"If you knew the kinds of plans I'm rearranging..."

"They can't be that important."

Kaiba scoffed. "You have no idea."

Joey shrugged. "Well, whatever. They can all be finished later, so jus' stop. Right now, all you should be worryin' 'bout is gettin' better so you can go home. An' I ain't leavin' till that happens. So: you sleep, an' I'll leave. We both get what we want."

"I'm not agreeing to that."

"Too bad, you're sorta the one stuck in the bed," Joey said.

"That can be changed," Kaiba suggested.

"If it coulda, ya woulda already," Joey replied. Kaiba shot him a glare, unwilling to admit that Joey was right. The blond pecked him on the nose. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Kaiba grumbled. He pulled his hand out of Joey's set it on his lover's cheek, his thumb and pointer figure bracing around the bandage on his cheek, thumb swiping across it. "It was stupid for you to get involved."

"Yeah, well, how it goes. Had t' go in after ya," Joey said.

"You didn't."

"I did. I was scared."

Kaiba's hand dropped away, resting back onto the bed while he relaxed back into the pillows stacked behind him. Joey stole it back up. Even in his exhausted pallor, dressed down into a robe to cover up the sterile clothes they'd placed him in, and laid up in a hospital bed, Kaiba regained his regal dignity. His control. The very same that kept his head high and his concentration focused in the face of uncertainty and a pistol to his temple.

"If you hadn't gone after me, you wouldn't have been hurt."

Joey shrugged. "If I hadn't gone after ya, I might not have seen ya again. I'd rather take the scrapes and bruises," he said. "It was worth it."

Kaiba's eyes closed, and a vain hope that he was going to try and sleep itched in the back of the blond's head. His grip on Kaiba's hand never slackened, not wanting to give him any reason to open his eyes again. "You woke up suddenly," Kaiba said, dashing Joey's hope of him asleep, though his eyes hadn't opened. "Before. Why?"

"Bad dreams," Joey replied. "They said stuff like that might happen."

"You've talked to the psychiatrist," Kaiba concluded. "Are you going to keep talking to them?"

"I may. I dunno; they sorta forced him on me when I first got here. If it's jus' dreams, I think I can manage." Joey was patting his hand against Kaiba's, lifting just enough to feel the his palm grow cold before landing it again. "You talk to 'em?"

"What for?"

Kaiba's voice seemed to be drifting off, growing quieter moment by moment, until he was struggling to keep it level while he spoke. Every time Joey's hand left his, his knuckles would inch upwards, wanting to find the source of the touch without actually looking for it.

"I dunno," Joey shrugged. "Someone to talk to 'bout things; figure out this shit that happened."

His hand landed firmly on Kaiba's, this time not leaving as his lover's as it twitched further, perhaps even subconsciously, in an effort to find Joey's palm after it had left his knuckles.

"I can talk to you about it," Kaiba slurred, unwilling to surrender to sleep. It wouldn't be much longer.

"Yeah. Yeah, ya can; we'll figure it out together," Joey smiled, his head bowed down and pulling Kaiba's hand close between his, lips brushing against the knuckles. He liked it when they were in private. He'd give Kaiba as much affection as he could muster behind closed doors, especially now.

"Joseph?"

"Yeah?"

"During the...truth or dare..."Kaiba said, slow, forcing out a steady breath, "were you honest?"

Joey pulled himself upright, surprised that they were talking about it so soon. Maybe it was for the best; he knew Kaiba wasn't about to talk to anyone else about the details. "What? 'Bout your worst quality?" Joey had only gotten one question, he recalled. "Yeah, 'course I was."

"I see."

Joey palmed his cheek with his free hand. Was this something Kaiba had been worrying about, amongst all the other things? He didn't consider that it bothered Kaiba to know what Joey thought of him. They were rather open in that regard, with Kaiba's bluntness often had them hurling insults at each other like it was a game. Joey had even pulled out a thesaurus just to combat his boyfriend's vocabulary. "Why ya ask?"

"You had said that we could have lied," Kaiba said. Joey vaguely recalled those words, though half of the conversations were missing, particularly at points where Zigfried was talking. "I wondered if perhaps you had."

"Nope," Joey said. But then he thought about Kaiba's answers, both of which left him curious. They were open to their own interpretations, and Joey hadn't had the opportunity to ask what Kaiba may have meant. "Did you?"

"Lie? No."

Joey smiled. "So ya really think I'm a, what was it, solid companion?" A shift in the bed, the blanket yanked up just a little higher onto Kaiba's torso. Joey grabbed one of the lower corners and evened it out with the rest of the blanket.

"I do."

"I don't even know what that means," Joey admitted, but he laughed a little bit.

"You don't have to," Kaiba replied. "It is what it is."

"If ya say so," Joey said. "I'm jus' gonna keep callin' ya my boyfriend. That's good enough for me."

"Hn," was the best response Joey got to his statement. He supposed that, other than looking up what it could have meant, he just had to take it face value. Digging deeper into the meaning would have tarnished its originality. Because leave it to Seto Kaiba to make something individual out of their relationship. Something he could claim was only his.

Joey's head lowered onto the bed, shifting Kaiba's hand so that there was room for the both of them. He listened to the soft, even, breaths that Kaiba was beginning to have, hoping the man was truly trying to get some rest. But Joey was falling asleep, too, even when he didn't want to. Not before Kaiba. He tried to keep talking. "So...tha' means the chopper thing was true too, eh?"

"It was."

Joey's eyes closed, and he tried to imagine what kind of tropical place they could have been in together. It was a pleasant change from the nightmare, going into a placid dream state where he saw Kaiba huddled up beneath an umbrella, still wearing long sleeves with swim trunks, a book balanced on his knees.

Joey fluttered awake. He couldn't fall asleep. Not before Kaiba. "Can we still do that?"

"Depends on your answer," Kaiba replied.

"Answer?" Joey snorted, half-asleep, at Kaiba's statement. "You didn't ask a question, ya dork," he said. Kaiba's hand settled on top of his head, fingers threading through the knotted bed-head hairs. "Ya ain't makin' sense now. Go t' sleep."

—

Even with the tinted windows of the limousine, Joey could see the sun just cracking over the horizon. A surge of bright morning colours painted over the dull blue skyline, outlining every facade of Domino City as they passed it by; quiet, undisturbed, and peaceful for a Saturday morning.

Certainly not the day that Joey enjoyed getting up before the crack of dawn and getting shoved into a car for, not when Kaiba had promised him that he would be resting in the week since he had been discharged. But a week was the maximum a CEO in the midst of going stir-crazy during recovery could muster.

"Why schedule a press conference this piss early in the mornin'?" Joey yawned. His arms stretched up over his head, his shirt pulling up with him. An offended finger jabbed him in the belly-button, and Mokuba giggled as he shuddered downwards, arms crossed tight over his midriff. "Hey you—!"

"Making sure you're awake," Mokuba said. "Can't be yawning in front of reporters."

Joey reached across the space between seats, faced towards one another, and grabbed at Mokuba to pull him across the gap onto his side. Defensively, he reached over towards Kaiba, latching onto his elder brother, trying to talk to someone in the phone, and pulling down one shoulder of the executive's suit jacket. "Oh no, he can't save ya. You're gonna get it now, little punk."

Kaiba switched which hand the phone was in, hitching his jacket back up as Joey yanked Mokuba onto his side of the car.

"The conference isn't right this second," Mokuba said. "It's gotta be set up first."

"Then ya don't need me," Joey said. "I'm sleepin' in the car."

Mokuba shoved Joey's shoulder. "'We' means you too. Duh!" At least Mokuba was laughing, and from the way that Kaiba was watching them, flashing a grin as he spoke, everyone was enjoying themselves. They'd take the moments as they came.

Turning to see where they were, a frown appeared in Joey's face. The car pulled to a stop at a side entrance into the arena, the arm raising as the driver flashed credentials. The car bumped along the path inside. "What are we doin' here?"

"The press conference," Kaiba replied, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Does it really gotta be here?"

"Everything that needs said regards what happened here."

"Guess so," he admitted. "Jus'...didn't think we'd be back so soon, ya know?"

"It's just a place," Kaiba said. The car pulled up to a stop at the edge of a road. Mokuba was already opening the door and jumping out. Kaiba was short to follow, steadying himself against the side of the door while Mokuba hovered close, taking his arm.

"Are you coming?" Mokuba asked, and turned back to Joey.

The knots forming in Joey's stomach were enough to stall him. "I...think I'll wait in the car."

Brows furrowed, Mokuba knocked his head for the blond to come with them, lips puckered in disappointment.

Kaiba waved his hand, dismissive. "Fine."

Joey's hands pressed together, his head bowed and eyes closed. A deep breath, in the nose, out the mouth. When he looked back up, the brothers weren't waiting for him. Even with Kaiba's limped strides, pained and forced, they were far ahead.

Sitting in the car, quiet as it was, even if he could have gone back to sleep, didn't feel like the right thing to do no matter how afraid he was.

"You can do this..." Joey said to himself, slapping his cheeks. Stepping out of the car, slamming the door behind him, he jogged to catch up to the pair, disappearing behind the sliding doors.

Joey lost sight of them around an errant corner, walking around the facility that he was much less familiar with, even if he'd been there several times. Where they were looked like an employee entrance of some sort.

Wandering, slow and steady, Joey shoved his hands into his pockets and worked his way through several doors, passing by a few errant employees. He was out to the actual arena and stands themselves, cleaned up and ready for use for the new.

The place was so much more alive than before, even in its quiet. Joey had imagined, after all the mess, that there would be rolls of police tape cording off sections, chalk lines laid out where people once were. The place did seem like it had a fresh coat of paint, but maybe that was just the difference in day, or his state of mind. Kaiba was right—it was just a place, and a place that felt different from before.

There was so much that went on, Joey found out, though the bits of the conversations he'd heard Kaiba have with contractors, lawyers, and public relations; plenty had happened outside the rooms they were trapped in. There were other people hurt and, while he didn't want to think about it, killed as well. The captors, mostly. Schroeder, they found later. Kaiba wouldn’t speak on that one, still unaware to the details. Roland was the only one on the KaibaCorp. side. But that was something that Joey couldn't get Kaiba to speak about either, with the executive choosing instead to fund the funeral and then wear his grief in shades of black since the moment he was discharged.

Until today.

Today, the man donned a thin blue tie against an off-white suit with silver pinstripes. Maybe another form of grief, life anew; something. Kaiba has his reasons; reasons Joey wasn't privy to, though some of them likely stemmed from the press conference. 

Before he knew it, he had wandered out to the middle of the arena itself, sitting in the same place he and Kaiba had been duelling in; the place where he cradled his lover as he rain overtook them. His arms laid overtop his knees, and he looked up to the sun as it fully rose. To the skybox, empty of its sponsors and broadcasters, to the sky bridge, bullet holes already repaired.

Joey watched as Mokuba passed through it, sans Kaiba, going into the skybox. Joey could only wonder why, but the boy waved to him, or at least that's what it looked like. Joey waved back before flattening on his back in the middle of the arena, eyes closing for a short nap. The brothers would find him when they were done.

—

Kaiba had his reasons for not beckoning Joey to follow him; he hadn't imagined the blond would want to in the first place, not after their ordeal, nor would he force him. But Kaiba had arranged a plan for a Mokuba to distract Joey and lead him into the heart of the arena should he willingly choose to follow the executive to the elevator and up.

In the end, Mokuba alerted him, via radio, that Joey had chosen to follow, though he hadn't made it that far before heading somewhere familiar. " _He's down on the field._ "

"He's making this easy, then," Kaiba replied. Miracles could happen. "Is everything set up?"

" _It looks like everything's still uploaded into the system. SolidVision receptors are all online. Ready when you are._ "

The elevator doors opened up, and Kaiba stepped through the plain, cement halls that rounded through the third floor. He went to the doors that lead to the stairwell and pushed them open, looking at he landing with a heaved sigh. Everything had been cleaned up, and the tile was bleached to scrub any blood away. A stain, however, still remained. Whitened and, if Kaiba were a little more religious, maybe angelic. Roland deserved as much, loyal and valiant to the very end. How much he was missed was obvious in even the smallest spaces in the Kaiba's life. There would be no replacement—he'd be constantly comparing them, unsatisfied. He would manage on his own.

Running his hand down his face, itching at the corners of his eyes where he could feel his emotions threatening, Kaiba stepped out of the stairwell. There were so many other things that needed to be done for the day; he would relegate his grief for later.

" _You found them?"_

"I'm not there," Kaiba replied, and he went through to the observation theatres. It had been a set of three, still incomplete in their construction. Which was why, Kaiba realised, the captors had dragged them there. No keycard or keypads had been installed. Accessible and out of the way.

'Out of Service' was posted on the center door. Kaiba pushed the door open and looked around at the chaos of the room. Awash with signs of a struggle. Left as it had been found the day of the attack, sans their phones and Mokuba's radio, per Kaiba's request.

" _There's a chance that it's not there. Security said they didn't see anything._ "

The chairs were all swivelled in different directions, but it was clear that the one that was centered in front of the window was the one that Joey had been placed in. The best view for a show. A leather belt was tucked into the crease of the seat. A stretched out zip-tie was still attached to the pole, pink on its edges. Joey hadn't described much of his own captivity, nor the details surrounding his brief escape, though the struggle in the room spoke volumes.

Kaiba moved on, stepping on a magazine that was fanned open on the floor. The towel that Roland had given them was beside it, hardened with sweat and browned with blood stains. A short table had been flipped onto its side, and a metal tray was propped up against its leg.

"I didn't ask them to look for it," Kaiba replied.

The toe of his shoe was inched underneath the tray, kicking it over. The clatter echoed. Beneath it lay a pair of padded headphones, three different knives, one serrated, and several pairs of zip ties were had flung over the length of the room. The table was pulled out of the way, scraping against the floor, catching on something as he tugged. Both hands eased the table up, against his side's protest.

" _Any luck?_ "

"Perhaps," Kaiba replied. He knelt down, left leg first, and crawled towards the wall.

Resting in the very corner was a small box, navy and square. It was snatched up, inspected inside and out.

" _Find it_?" Mokuba asked, impatient.

"I did," Kaiba said. The box was tucked into his pocket. "Is Joey still on the field?"

" _Yep. I...think he's asleep, actually."_

Kaiba sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course he is. Be on the ready."

" _You got it!_ "

—

Kaiba found Joey just as Mokuba described, laying spread eagle in the middle of the field, snoring.

Toeing his shoe into the blond's ribs, and watching Joey roll away, made Kaiba almost want to wait and just watch him sleep. Almost. But there wasn't much time until the press conference. "Joseph."

"Nn..."

"Joseph."

"Whu-huh?"

Joey opened his eyes to find Kaiba's overtop of him, his head blocking out most of the sun, while the blond blinked away the sleep. A disapproving scowl was on Kaiba's face, his arms crossed over his chest.

"The ground is not a bed."

"Anywhere's a bed if ya make it one," Joey propped up on his elbows. Kaiba clicked his tongue. "Ya disappeared. Figured you would find me here."

"I would rather you have slept in the car; you'd be less covered in dirt," Kaiba replied. His arms uncrossed, and one hand slipping into his pocket. Joey yawned, stretched his arms over his head, and twisted at the waist.

"Get up," Kaiba said. "We don't have all day."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your undies in a twist." Joey was up on his knees, still stretching, his midriff exposed again.

"And tuck in your shirt."

"It's a polo, it looks fine the way it is," Joey protested. He flung the hem of it down, as if to prove his point.

"You'll be in front of a camera, Joseph. Tuck in your shirt," Kaiba ordered.

"It's not that bad, seriously, look. It'll be stupid to tuck it in—"

"Only because you didn't wear a belt like I asked."

An aggravated, exaggerated sigh came out, but Joey shoved the shirt down into his khaki slacks. "There! Tucked in," he said, adjusting it so it wasn't so flat. "I don't understand why I gotta be there anyways."

"Because it involves you," Kaiba said, his hand slipping out of his pocket.

"Well, yeah, sorta. But I ain't gotta talk or nothin'," Joey said. "I'm jus' gonna stand behind ya, like Mokuba. No one's gonna pay attention to me, so I don't see why you're bein' so uptight."

"It's the principle of it," Kaiba retorted. "Hold out your hand."

"Gonna inspect my nails now? Or is it ya wanna make sure I washed my hands? Here," he shoved both hands out, showing off first the nails, before placing the palms up. "I'll give ya both now, so we can get this over with. It's too damn early for this, Seto, can ya jus' cool it? I'm not gonna—" the small box was dropped into Joey's open palms, "—what the hell's this now?"

"Open it."

Joey put the box at eye level, turned it to look at the gold letters imprinted on the top, and then shook it while his nails dug into the crack. He stopped himself from opening it, lowering it to look Kaiba in the eye. His heart began pounding. "This is a jewellery box."

"Very astute."

"It's from that fancy store in the middle o' town," Joey laughed, nervous. "What, ya get me a watch or somethin'?"

Kaiba shrugged. "You have to open it to find out, Joseph."

Joey's hands cupped around the box, thumb stroking against the grain of the velvet, nail tracing along the filigree lettering over the lid. It was too small for a watch, he knew, and Kaiba was humouring him. That Kaiba wasn't rushing him and, instead, stared him down with a look that hinged on curious hunger, biting at the corner of his mouth before setting his face back to impassive, only made Joey's heart hammer harder against his ribs.

The box was flicked open, and at first, Joey didn't focus on the important details. He saw the filigree lettering embossed on the inner lid, and the wash of pearled white fabric that made up the inside. Before he even reached the display, his vision blurred and he had to blink until he could refocus.

Rings. Two of them. One shining bright, almost white, inlaid with three sapphire stones. The other was blackened metal, semi-glossed, with three ruby stones.

"I...," Joey looked up at Kaiba, licked his lips, and looked back down at the rings. So many details flung into his head at once, thinking back to the day of the tournament, and to their late night conversations in the hospital. It was enough to make it seem as though the world was spinning. "Seto...these are...?"

"Yes."

"Then you're...?"

"I am."

"You were gonna do this at the tournament, weren't ya?" Joey asked.

Kaiba nodded. "I was."

"So that means the exhibition duel, an'...an' the helicopter waitin' for my 'answer'...?"

"All careful plans that were destroyed."

Joey's hands tightened around the box to stop them from shaking. "An'...ya still want me? After everythin' that happened? After I was so stupid an'...coulda...an' you coulda..."

"Its become especially clear after everything that happened," Kaiba replied. "Your answer?"

Joey was stuck somewhere between laughing and crying. His eyes flickered between both rings, a pointer finger sliding between both and running along the edges. Cold, sharp, and perfect. Stumbling forward, dragging his heavy as lead legs over to his lover, Joey wrapped his arms tight around Kaiba. His nose buried in the soft jacket shoulder, feeling Kaiba's hands settle on the small of his back, light but present.

"It's too early for all this," Joey said, muffled by the fabric. A haggard breath shuddered out. "Which one would be mine?"

"The platinum one."

"So the black one would be yours?"

"Yes," Kaiba replied, whispered. His voice broke, for the briefest of moments, in his reply. Just enough for Joey to hear his impatience, his nerves, and his fear. "Your answer?"

From behind Kaiba's back, Joey pried the black ring out of the box, snapping it shut before he stepped back and reached for Kaiba's wrist. A thin hand was taken into Joey's, who worried about just how slick with sweat his palms had become in such a short time. Kaiba said nothing, only watched as Joey slipped the ring onto his finger, though it was missed on the first try. "Why else would I ask which is which if I'm sayin' 'no'?"

Kaiba stole up the box, taking the platinum ring out and slipping it onto Joey's finger. "To be difficult."

"Yeah, well, okay maybe. But ya didn't exactly get down on one knee, either," Joey said. "We'll call it even."

Joey's fingers slid into the empty spaces between Kaiba's, admiring the ring for more moments than may have been healthy, only breaking the gaze when Kaiba tilted his chin up, planting a kiss. Long, deep, gravitating their bodies to touch one another. Joey's pulled his hands up to Kaiba's face, cupping his cheeks.

A roar came from above them, breaking Joey away to catch his breath and look around, seeing the tail of a Blue Eyes flying overhead, before a Red Eyes came trailing behind it. He stepped further out, released from Kaiba's embrace, to get a better look at the monsters. The dragons began circling each other, the head of one following the tail of the other. Perfectly synchronised, a yin yang sign in constant motion.

"This woulda been cool in front of everyone," Joey said, finally finding his voice. The dragons settled on the field, nudged up close to one another. "But it's awesome no matter what."

"There's a crowd of reporters who probably just saw it all," Kaiba replied. The press conference! Joey looked back to Kaiba, lips pursed and eyes widened. That was why it was so important for him to be there? "You think you can handle everything they may ask?

A beat of silence, and Joey looked back to where the dragons laid, the SolidVision floating away in beats of golden pixels, floating up in patterns that were subtly shaping like hearts.

"What, us talkin' about what happened to us here?" Joey asked. Such a brutal, unwanted set of memories to be recounted, but as he looked down to the ring, and felt a glow of happiness that it seemed to emit, he added, "an' us talkin' about the, heh, guess it's an engagement?"

Kaiba smirked. "Yes."

Joey turned back to Kaiba and reached his hand out, taking Kaiba's in his and squeezing. "Long as I got you, I can handle anythin'. We can get through anythin' together."

Kaiba squeezed back. "That we can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time resisting a happy/bittersweet ending, because I felt it was where it would lead, and what I had initially planned. Well, I had planned on a cliffhanger with Joey’s answer and was like ‘nah...that wouldn’t be right’. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this! Tell me what you think! See you in the next story!


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